The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  Lizzy and Georgiana were gowned in dresses of finely woven muslin as thin and loose as modesty would allow. Georgiana’s was dandelion yellow with lacy sleeves capped upon her shoulders. Lizzy was similarly clothed, her gown a fallow-brown trimmed in copper with layered half-sleeves. Their wrist-height gloves were netted for ventilation, leaving the greater part of their arms bare and unprotected except for the matching shawls currently bunched at their elbows. Fashionably protecting their fair faces from the harshest rays of the sun were brimmed hats strategically placed to shield while also accenting elaborate coiffures and jewels.

  Darcy, naturally, was resplendent and every inch the dashing English gentleman. From his tall, felted beaver hat to the tips of his polished, mid-calf Wellington boots, he oozed 1820 style. Although he did own a large collection of longer trousers and pantaloons, Darcy still preferred breeches, today wearing a calf-length pair of beige nankeen precisely tailored for his muscular lower body and tucked with barely a wrinkle into the tops of his black boots. His brown-and-gray-striped waistcoat and jacket of Prussian blue were sewn from lightweight kerseymere, the lacy white cravat tied elaborately but loose, all designed to withstand the soaring heat and humidity of a London summer.

  As usual, it was his professional valet who selected the day’s attire, Darcy rarely having an opinion on the subject. Samuel was well aware of the societal nuances in dress and accoutrements that were essential for the various meetings, activities, and places that filled Mr. Darcy’s schedule, knowing it better than Darcy did. Today he had decided that, although still April and the average temperatures not rising to drastic levels, his Master would be worried over his family and thus would need to be comfortable. Of course, Darcy did not know this was Samuel’s reasoning, simply donning the individual garments with barely a glance. His only disagreement was on wearing gloves or taking a walking stick. He did not care for the ridiculous affectation of a dandified cane when he was perfectly capable of walking unassisted and he also wished to keep his hands bare and unencumbered so he could delight in the touch of his wife and sons.

  He reached across to rescue the increasingly rambunctious Michael from Georgiana’s questionable grasp. She smiled her thanks, but otherwise maintained the steady prattling conversation with Elizabeth. Lizzy’s cheeks were rosy and eyes alit with delight as they turned onto the spacious access through the massive gates at the corner entrance to Hyde Park.

  The King’s Road, built by William III in 1690 as a direct route between Kensington Palace and St. James’s Palace, was one of several carriageways cutting through the enormous royal park, but it was by far the largest and most popular. It was broad enough to easily accommodate three carriages abreast, thickly paved with a sea of coarse gravel from the Thames, and lined with manicured lawns, hedges, and footpaths. With over three hundred lamps positioned to illuminate the thoroughfare at night, this avenue held the distinction of being the first in the country to be artificially lit, a fact Londoners were proud of. Officially named The King’s Road, the corruption of the French “Route de Roi” led to the more common, humorous name of Rotten Row. Of course, there was nothing “rotten” about it, the avenue pristinely maintained and scenic with a stunning view of the Serpentine’s glittering blue waters through the trees and bushes to the north.

  The fine carriage emblazoned with the Darcy crest was admitted to Hyde Park, the guard nodding briefly to the driver. The true “fashionable hour” for promenading and flirting would not be until later in the afternoon, but at this earlier part of the day, Rotten Row was far from empty. Several equally fine carriages were making their way west along the avenue, mixing in with the dozens of pedestrians and equestrians roaming up and down the graveled track. The clamor of hooves, wheels, and raised voices was intense, even with the relative sparsity in noontime visitors. Lizzy and Georgiana began waving at people they knew, Darcy nodding sedately as well, but the driver did not halt. Under orders from Mr. Darcy to proceed west until signaled to stop, he urged the horses at a stately pace.

  They traveled roughly a mile, slowing for occasional brief conversations with known acquaintances either mounted on magnificent steeds or reclining in opulent carriages. Finally, when nearing a grouping of tall cedars and a bubbling fountain near a diverging footpath, Darcy addressed the driver and instructed him to halt. It was here that the occupants disembarked for their exercise.

  The Darcy House footman jumped down to open the calash doors and then turned to assist Mrs. Hanford from her perch next to the driver. The perambulator was untied from the rear footboard and a protesting Michael secured inside the cushioned bed with a wide, leather strap spanning the opening. Darcy had been forced to emergently fashion a restraint for the small baby carriage two days before they departed Pemberley, after Michael exploded in a fit of temper while strolling with his parents and brother through the private garden. He had dropped his favorite toy, a ring of metal keys that clanged so beautifully when shook, arching his back and kicking his legs so violently that it was only Darcy’s swift reflexes that saved the contorting infant from tumbling to the pebbled pathway. It was an incident that had never remotely occurred with Alexander, taking both parents utterly by surprise. The agitated father had marched into the stable yard and enlisted the aid of the mechanical wizard Stan in the project. So far the shackle was working fairly well to keep Michael in place, but Darcy remained vigilant.

  “Calm down, you rascal!” Darcy knelt by the pram, tucking the folded blankets and padding around his irate son, propping him safely so he could see over the edge without escaping. “Here are your keys and your rattles. Elizabeth, do we have one of those biscuits he loves? Excellent. Here you are, sweet. Yum. There, much better, yes? Now can we take our walk? So many pretty flowers and people to capture your attention. Let us pray, that is.” He leaned to kiss the soft forehead, wiping the tears off the ruddy cheeks. Michael gnawed on the hard cookie and reached one hand toward the beloved face of his father. Darcy snatched the chubby fingers between his lips, nibbling until Michael erupted in bubbling giggles.

  “And what, pray tell, will you do when he begins to walk? Put him on a leash?”

  Darcy glanced upward into the grinning face of his cousin Richard, a smiling Lady Simone on his arm. “I certainly hope such a drastic step will not be necessary, but with this one I may have no option.” He smiled at his son, bestowing another kiss before rising. “Glad you could join us, Cousin. Lady Simone.” He bowed. “A delight to see you. You are well, I trust?”

  “Quite well, Mr. Darcy. Thank you. Elizabeth, you look especially radiant. I was so worried for you.”

  “Thank you, Simone. I am fully restored, partially due to your husband’s efforts. I have not had the opportunity to thank you properly, dearest Richard.” Lizzy reached to take his hands, squeezing firmly.

  “Please, Elizabeth, you shall embarrass me!” Darcy coughed at that ridiculous statement, the colonel ignoring him. “I was delighted to be of service. Besides, your husband needed me to watch his back. Pathetically inept without me to take care of him.”

  She shook her head, face serious. “I shall not allow you to jest or make light. I know what you did for us, and I can never adequately express my appreciation. If not for you, your associates, and your intervention, we may not be here. And William could have been…”

  She choked on the words, lowering her head to compose her emotions. Darcy touched her lightly on the small of her back, a tender caress as he spoke into the unsettling moment. “Mr. and Mrs. Bingley approach, dearest. Alexander, run and greet your cousin Ethan.”

  Lizzy smiled, her emotions again in check as she scanned the group of people milling about the lawn. She looked up at her serene spouse. “I see you have indeed invited everyone we know to join our excursion to Hyde Park.”

  “I may have mentioned it to one or two people. How they chose to spend their time is outside my purview.”

  Lizzy laughed at his bland statement and squeezed his arm once before joining Simone
to accost her sister. The women welcomed each other, voices musical as they ambled the trail leading toward the river’s edge where the blankets were spread. Lizzy’s joy in the out-of-doors was evident to her husband, who turned a carefree face toward Bingley as he neared.

  “Elizabeth appears her usual lively self,” Bingley noted, inclining his head to George and Richard in greeting, “and the weather today is perfection for a picnic. Grand idea, Darcy. We have the tents erected and enough food to feed half of London.”

  “That is unlikely once I eat my fill.”

  “We considered your attendance, Dr. Darcy, and have provided accordingly,” Bingley countered with a wink to his friend.

  The four gentlemen assumed a knot trailing leisurely behind the ladies with the children and nannies in between. They exchanged pleasantries for several minutes until Darcy touched Richard’s sleeve, pausing in his steps.

  “What is the verdict from Newgate?” he asked, eyes intent upon his skipping son.

  “Guilty, all of them, on numerous charges. As pathetic as they were as guards, each one of them possessed histories of crimes that continued to grow with further investigation. In the end, my brilliantly fabricated story was irrelevant. Rather disappointing in a way, but I am glad to see it done. Frankly, I am weary of remembering the night, as exciting as it was in some respects.”

  Darcy frowned, but George chuckled. “Rethinking your decision to retire, Colonel?”

  Richard shook his head. “Not in the least. Domesticity fits me, I have discovered to my surprise.” George snorted humorously, Richard continuing with a laugh, “I have happily foregone tramping through blood and mud, as have you the jungles and deserts, all for the sake of a fine meal and warm bed. We are not so dissimilar, Dr. Darcy.”

  “True, true.” George mourned.

  “Surely there are no legal consequences, is there, Darcy?”

  “No, Bingley. Mere formalities to appease the authorities. They only spoke with me once, and Colonel Fitzwilliam twice. Orman remains silent and his helpers are grossly ignorant and untrustworthy, so nothing damning there.”

  “What did you find when you went to Bethlam, Dr. Darcy?”

  George shook his head, his expression unusually serious when he answered Bingley’s question. “Horrid place. Diseases of the mind have never held much interest for me, I am afraid, so I cannot judge with confidence. But his caretakers and the doctors say he is beyond being cured.”

  “Based on what the newspapers have written, I was under the impression that the new building in Southwark is impressive and modern. Is this untrue?”

  “Oh, it is a fine building, Mr. Bingley. Well constructed, spacious, on a lovely plot of land, and with a fresh water supply. It is the attempts at psychology and healing of mental illnesses that leave much to be desired. Not that I have any enlightened ideologies, but what takes place at the aptly named Bedlam is frequently inhumane, although they do try.”

  “I have difficulty mustering any remorse for what Orman may be suffering.” Darcy’s voice was strained, his eyes hard as he stared straight ahead toward his wife and son.

  “I comprehend your sentiment, William. We all do, naturally. But I think even you would be softened by what takes place there.”

  Darcy did not respond to his uncle’s assertion, feeling not a twinge of compassion for the insane Marquis.

  George continued, “Be that as it may, Orman has earned a private cell and is receiving better than normal care. His wealth affords that, at least for now.”

  “His wealth is not as vast as one might expect. Mr. Daniels did further probing and, in addition to what the inspector told me today, I believe Lord Orman’s fortune has been largely squandered. For years I have heard the rumors of his decadent lifestyle and mismanagement of his estates. I witnessed it myself. It is just one of a dozen reasons why I loathed him long before he attacked my wife.” Darcy’s normally warm baritone was cold, the contempt evident under the careful regulation of his speech. “He has massive debts accrued, no legitimate heirs, and his crimes are innumerable. My solicitor said that the Crown would likely assume his properties eventually, the subsequent liquidation of his inheritance being confiscated to pay his debts with little left in reserve for his use. Again, I cannot evoke the slightest sorrow or compassion.”

  He looked at his uncle with eyes glacial. George nodded and said nothing more. An uncomfortable silence fell. It was clear to all involved, especially those who had known Darcy for extended periods of time, that his mind would not be changed or fury soon relinquished.

  They resumed their stroll to the end of the path. The joined waters of the damned River Westbourne and the onetime natural springs that randomly dotted the center acres of the recreational grounds in the heart of London had, since 1730, formed the curved pool spanning the interior of the vast park. Named the Serpentine by Queen Catherine, whose idea it was to revamp the royal hunting and leisure preserve nearly a century prior, the lake was now a prime locale for socializing and diversion among the upper echelons of the ton while away from their country adobes.

  Alexander, Ethan, Hugh, and the other children were squealing with glee at the numerous hungry-looking ducks swimming on the surface of the crystalline waters. Harry Pomeroy, a mature youth of nine whole years, stood with the older boys watching the frolicking youngsters, they refusing to cavort as the babies did, but their eyes shone nonetheless.

  A wide lawn stretched along the southern shore where they stood and the untamed tree- and shrub-dotted northern banks were visible across the river. The gardens retained a wildness about them that was pleasing to the eye, if not as relaxing as a more sculptured landscaping would be. A sizeable amount of the northern acreage was yet forested and reserved for royal hunting of the deer that freely roamed. Only Kensington Gardens to the west, those lands that surrounded the Palace and were segregated from the rest of the park by the harmonious sunken fence established as a boundary in Queen Catherine’s day, were truly designed and manicured to any great degree. Here in Hyde Park proper, there were only a few areas that could be considered formalized or groomed, such as Rotten Row and the Ring north of the Serpentine.

  “I read that his Majesty is considering a renovation of Hyde Park,” Bingley said in an effort to break the silence.

  “Indeed,” George answered. “He has requested the presence of architects, engineers, and gardeners from all over England. One article said that John Rennie is designing a bridge to span the Serpentine and that Decimus Burton wants to erect a grand entrance of some sort at the corner.”

  “What? Nash has not been invited as yet?” Even Darcy chuckled at Richard’s remark.

  “Give it time, Colonel. I am sure the eminent John Nash shall be involved eventually, but I also heard a rumor that our new King wants to renovate Buckingham Palace and has enlisted Nash for that project.”

  “Excellent. I can imagine Parliament is thrilled at those drains on the treasury.”

  “No politics today, gentlemen,” Darcy interrupted, speaking for the first time since halting. “Let us focus on our families. Speaking of which, Richard, your stepson approaches.”

  “Father Richard, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Dr. Darcy.” Harry Pomeroy bowed to each man before turning to his stepfather. “The boys wish to remove their shoes and stockings and walk in the water. Do they have your permission?”

  The fathers nodded their approvals, Richard adding with a smile, “You may join them, Harry. I am sure the water is refreshing.” The older boy lifted his chin and frowned, saying nothing as he turned to rejoin the children currently screeching with joy as they tossed bread by the handfuls and were enveloped by a cloud of quacking ducks. Richard laughed softly, shaking his head. “He thinks he is so grown-up. Reminds me of another boy I once knew.” He glanced slyly at Darcy, who, as typical, ignored his cousin and kept his attention focused on the six men approaching.

  “Darcy! Thank you for inviting us. It is a fine day for a leisurely hour in the park.”


  “You are most welcome, Sitwell. I knew Elizabeth would appreciate visiting with her friends. How are you, Gerald?”

  “Excellent. Could not be better.”

  “I know why you are wearing that grin, Mr. Vernor,” George said with a smile. “Mrs. Vernor will be soon presenting you a third child by the looks of things. Congratulations.”

  Gerald Vernor bowed, his face beaming. “Thank you, Doctor. It could be any day now, so we are anxious. We waited so long after Spencer that we were beginning to think that was the end of Vernor children. But God has blessed us, and we are humbled and deeply appreciative. The boys are even more excited to greet what they are convinced will be a little brother.”

  “Marilyn can barely contain her glee,” Albert Hughes said with a chuckle. “The fact that your child will be mere months younger than ours was not lost on her, I can assure you. And Michael is close in age as well. Our gatherings will surely be lively affairs for the next dozen years or so.”

  Darcy smiled, remaining mum on the possibility of yet another Derbyshire baby to join the mix. The symptoms Lizzy experienced were ambiguous at best, neither of them yet credibly trusting the notion so keeping it a hopeful jest for now. Even the eagle-eyed, intuitive diagnostic skills of Dr. George Darcy were not adequate to confirm the inconspicuous signs.

  Mr. Hughes continued. “Darcy, as soon as we return home for the summer I need to bring Christopher to Pemberley. He is anxious to transition from pony to stallion, and I will have him ride none but your thoroughbreds. Marilyn would prefer a colt, but I think I can sway her to accept a smaller stallion.”