Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Diana Birchall

"Rather have something stronger than tea, yes," Fitzwilliam agreed.

  The young couple wheeled the invalid off, and Cloe looked after them ruefully. "That is like Jane - she is all consideration, and takes such care of her poor brother. Well, cousin; I will hear what my sister has to say to me. Please, if you can, tell me with dispatch; and then we will end this subject."

  "I am glad that you are not absurdly prudish, for a young lady," Jeremy said, "after all, these are modern times; and Bettina is a good-humoured enough girl and I'd have married her myself if she were not an actress, and if my father were not so opposed, and if she had any money. But I have seen her again; and there is no use of talking to me of indelicacy, for you cannot miss her if you are in London. She is always in something or other at the Covent Garden, you know - not a theatre with the very best reputation, the audience are ruffians and they say a lady in a decent gown will have it spoilt if she goes into a box there - but that may be merely lies, put about in the newspapers by the other theatres. Nothing is more likely. Well, Bettina plays there, now, not only in mere pantomime, but in farce and melodrama too: I saw her myself, she was a village girl and sang a song in 'William Tell,' not badly at all, upon my word. She must be quite well paid, need not be at any fellow's mercy if she does not like it."

  Cloe looked down. "Well, and what is the message?"

  "Only that she is happy, and hopes you will come to see her on the stage if ever you come to town. Her lodgings are in Drury Lane, and it would be no harm to your reputation to visit her there; or she would be pleased to have a letter from you at any time. She has heard from your father and mother, and even sent them some money. There. Was that so very bad?"

  "I am glad to hear that she is well," said Cloe resolutely, "but I am sorry she has not yet come to a sense of the wrongness of her own conduct. I will - I will send her a kind note. Now, let us return to the house, and join the others."

  They turned, and without further conversation they walked back past a field of purple fox-gloves, and they passed into the walled garden, full of roses in bloom, and where Dr. Clarke was most happily occupied. He hailed the young people with animation.

  "How d'ye, Miss Cloe, how d'ye, Mr. Jeremy? Have you ever seen such roses as these - I should not boast, but they are approaching perfection, especially these white ones, a new strain, which I shall call 'Queen Victoria,' to be sure. And did you notice the borders along the walk - Hayes has not done badly with them, under my direction, I think - wild-flowers, campion, lavender, celandine. I prefer a wild border to dry formalities - something more of wildness - do not you agree with me, my dear?"

  "Oh, yes, Uncle Clarke," said Cloe, trying to bring her attention to what he was saying, "the roses may I take a few back to poor Fitzwilliam? I think he would like it."

  "Well - I do not like to disappoint - by all means, you may - but if you can wait, I would advise it. Three days, Miss Cloe, only three more days, and they will be perfection: then, perhaps you will take a selection. And I have some that I am cultivating specially for his mother, too, as a great surprise. The Elizabeth rose, which - but I must betray no secrets."

  "That will be lovely," agreed Cloe, absently.

  "There is nothing like a rose, is there?" he said, growing confidential. "It was a rose first taught me to love my Maker, more than forty years ago; and I always shall, until gathered in by the great Gardener." He bowed his head respectfully.

  "Very fine flowers, uncle," said Jeremy, with a nod, and they moved on. As they drew near the house, Jeremy spoke again. "Nice old fellow...By the by, where is my cousin Henry? I thought you would have married him by now, Cloe, that is what."

  "How can you say such things, Jeremy," she said, with a reproachful look.

  "Well, I am sure he was sweet on you; can't blame him, you're quite as pretty as Bettina. She is well enough for an actress, but you are of a fresher modester - sort, that I should think would suit him capitally. I don't doubt but you'd make quite a sensation yourself in London, and I can't think what Henry is about. I am sorry if I have said the wrong thing," he said hastily, catching sight of her face, "bless me, but that is the way I always do."

  They had gained the house, and Cloe lost no time in running upstairs. Lord Frederick, coming down from Fitzwilliam's chamber, felt rather than saw her fly past, her face averted, and his lordship stepped forward and waylaid Jeremy.

  "What on earth have you been saying to the girl, old chap?"

  "Only about Henry," said Jeremy, abashed.

  "Look here," suggested Lord Frederick, after a moment's reflection, "perhaps we ought to do some fishing, this afternoon, and get ourselves out of the way, what do you say?"

  Jane repeated what she knew of the conversation to her mother, with indignation, and Elizabeth was quite as outraged as her daughter, though from a mother's perspective.

  "It can't be proper for Jeremy to talk to Cloe about her sister in London, now, can it, Mama considering what Bettina is. I don't know how he can be so thoughtless."

  "The shame of Jeremy's behavior, for his mother - so good and as sweet as she is. I am sorry he has learnt nothing from his late experiences certainly not discretion," she said.

  He needs a sensible wife," said Jane, in a "matronly fashion that was amusing to behold, given her youthful face. "But I would not wish such a fate for any nice girl. I know he is my cousin, but I think he is quite despicable."

  "He needs to be chained up for a few years, that is all," said Elizabeth with a sigh, "he is such a very silly young man; but then, he is only one and twenty. Perhaps, when Henry comes, he can do him some good. Being with Henry would be the very best thing for Jeremy."

  "I hope when Henry comes," said Jane vehemently, "Jeremy will be long gone."

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Henry did come, and after his cousin had ridden back to Swanfield, repentantly upon the whole, for the sight of Cloe's sadness Hand shame had worked upon him so far. The entire party would know themselves glad to exchange Jeremy for Henry; and the young man very speedily found Jane and Cloe in the walled garden, picking roses, for Mr. Clarke had at last given them permission to cut the full-blown blossoms.

  "This is a pretty sight," he said, walking in by the garden gate. His eyes met Cloe's at once, but she lowered hers and said nothing. Jane ran over to him and grasped his hands.

  "Henry! Here you are! Can you stay? Are things all right in your parish? Has my mother seen you yet - shall I tell her you are here? She and the aunts are in the library with Fitzwilliam, Aunt Mary has found some interesting racing volumes she wished to show him for a treat, and the other gentlemen are out riding," she finished, in one breath.

  "Why, Jane, you talk so fast. Yes, everything is well at Manygrove. I have been marrying and burying parishioners at not much of a rate - in fact, there have been no marriages or deaths, though I have had two Christenings. It is very hot however, and I thought a few days at Pemberley, watching the sight of my sister with her intended, would refresh me. Do not take me for an idle parson," he said, taking care not to look at Cloe again until he thought she could bear it. "No, Jane, you need not go to my mother yet - sit and rest, do."

  But Jane was up and running, and she called over her shoulder as she flew, "Mama has not seen you, she will want to know."

  Cloe was therefore abruptly left alone with Henry, in a situation of awkwardness which seemed to her almost unbearable. She could absolutely think of nothing to say, and turned a pink rose around in her fingers, sure that it matched the colour of her face, and glad to use her bonnet as a screen. Henry advanced a little, and said hesitantly, "I have not seen you in this long time, Cloe - not since you went away and became a governess. I am sure you did it all very well; but I wish you would have stayed here."

  She forced herself to speak, though she still could not meet his eyes. "I could not, you know; and it was not so very bad after all. The Collinses were kind, and I saw a part of the country that I had never seen before. Kent was quite beautiful." Her voice trailed off. />
  "Is it very painful for you, to see me here?" he asked quickly. "I shall remove myself if my presence is distasteful to you; I would not distress you, for the world."

  "Oh, no! Not at all," she managed to say. "I am leaving myself, you know - I have stayed such a long while already, and your family has been so kind. I go to Lady Neville, soon, and I am fortunate to have such a prospect. Not a girl in a hundred, I am sure, could."

  Henry moved close enough now to be face to face with her. "Cloe," he said, "I must say it, impossible though it seems. You must not. Please do not accept another position - I want you to remain here."

  She looked up in astonishment. "Mr. Henry - Mr. Darcy - cousin, you know I cannot do any such thing. I must go: and that soon. I do not wish to remain dependent and a burden here or anywhere else - I must be independent."

  "Not if you were my wife," he said, earnestly. "Would you indeed prefer independence to that? Cloe, I have always wished you to marry me, and I cannot stop wishing it, now that I have seen you again. I think I could make you happy; and I know you would make me so."

  She tormented the rose petals in her hand, and looked at the ground. "You know very well that can never, never, be."

  "Of course it can. Who is to say not? My father and my mother will welcome you with delight. Jane will be so truly your sister - you will be at home at Pemberley."

  "Oh, don't tempt me, don't tempt me. It sounds too beautiful to be true - and it is," she cried.

  "You do care for me, then? The prospect does tempt you?" A joyous smile stole over his features. "That is what I want to be assured of. Say nothing, if it is so - and I will know how to be happy.

  Cloe, I stayed away because I thought you wished it, but I could do so no longer: you are the wife I want, and will have." he found she could not reply, and after a moment he took her arm gently. "Let us go into the house," he said, "and see my mother. You must think it over, and you will see, in a rational light, that there can be no objections. But I will importune you no more at present. Your own good sense will do a better job than I can."

  Mrs. Darcy and Jane saw them walking through the gardens, slowly, arm in arm, and they were rejoiced; but when the young couple entered the parlour, Henry said nothing, and Cloe took a seat near Fitzwilliam. She occupied herself in offering him the different roses, one by one, so that he might enjoy the scent of each, and he sniffed very dutifully to please her, kindly refraining from entirely spoiling her happiness and usefulness by telling her that he had never had any little sense of smell worth mentioning.

  Henry talked quite successfully about parish matters for the next hour, though hardly aware what he said; and when his father came in, he followed him upstairs and presented his case to him, with warmth and anxiety, while Mr. Darcy pulled off his riding-boots. The agitated Henry further scrupled to explain the full truth: that Cloe had not yet accepted him.

  "As far as I am concerned," said Mr. Darcy, "you may marry the girl, if it pleases you, and if you can make her have you. Her family may be a drawback, but as I married into it myself with remarkable success, I can only call it a prescription for happiness; and if her parents have been a burden to me this five and twenty years, I shall be quite glad to pass them on to you. I fancy it is the sister that it is at the bottom of the girl's reservations; but as my late father-in-law Mr. Bennet used to say, no one ought to mind being connected with a little absurdity. And I say, if folly were grief, every house would weep."

  "It is more than absurdity and folly, indeed," said Henry soberly, "but Cloe is not to be held responsible for her sister's character, and if you do not object, sir - "

  "Far from it. By your marrying Cloe, we would have an actress in the family no more than is already the case, and we are not so foolish as to think it is a reflection on poor Cloe's virtue, any more than on our own. Well, go down, go down Henry; continue your wooing, and be so good as to let me finish getting dressed. She will make a very good parson's wife, and I shall give you the fields between Pemberley and Manygrove when you are married, so you will start life on no less than two thousand a year; and when I am gone you two will look after your brother, and help him run the place. With your influence, Pemberley will be much properer than it ever could be in my lifetime, I have no doubt. You will never allow any actresses hereabouts. Times change, and we must change with them."

  "Thank you, father," said Henry with all his heart, "your kindness is such as I cannot express - " But Mr. Darcy waved him away, and rang the bell for his manservant to bring up the shaving-water.

  Henry courted Cloe very determinedly and every day, as Fitzwilliam sat under a sun-umbrella, watching his beloved horses, the two young couples walked a little distance into the Park. They liked to see how the crops were ripening, and to look at the fish in the stew-pond, and to watch the donkeys pulling the heavy stone rollers over the smooth green lawn, scattered with daisies and buttercups; and to see the view from the old stone bridge. Much as they all liked each other, it was remarkable how the foursome generally split into two pair.

  Mrs. Darcy tactfully stayed back, on these occasions, watching over Fitzwilliam, hoping to make him feel less left out; but her tender consideration may have been thrown away, for as long as he could be wheeled out to see the horses, and have the racing-stud read to him daily, and be fed sufficient beef and porter in judicious sips and bites, Fitzwilliam was not unhappy. He did not care if he never formed part of a couple with a young woman again, since one of the species had led him into so many difficulties.

  Jane, however, was anxious about the match between her friend and her brother. "I do hope Henry will persuade her," she said to her future husband, for the fifth or sixth time that day. "I made her listen to some solemn talk on the subject last night, and told her I should never forgive her if she did not take him."

  "You have been telling her that very constantly, all week long," observed Lord Frederick, "I should think she is tired of hearing it. You might safely leave it to herself, I am sure."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "Certainly. Hanging and wedding are the two things that go by destiny, do they not? So there is not the least doubt in the world."

  Nor was there. When Henry and Cloe joined the others, during one of these walks - it hardly matters which one, as they were all very much alike - there were two engaged couples instead of one; and Jane claimed the affectionate embrace of a sister, while Lord Frederick shook Henry's hand with warmth and pleasure, so that the four young people made a joyous cluster in the midst of a poppy-field.

  Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy walked out and joined them, and they heard the long wished-for news and embraced their new daughter-to-be with heartfelt delight. Mrs. Darcy drew her a little apart, and told her, with smiles and embraces, "I was sure you would give in. So persuasive as our Henry is, so full of courtesy and full of craft, with his tongue his best weapon - how could you long resist his arguments?"

  "Indeed I could not!" said Cloe, laughing a little in her embarrassment. "He has made me so very happy. There is nobody like him - so clever, and so kind - I am the happiest creature in the world." She was unable to find anything better than the most threadbare words, but her face was expressing her feelings. "If only I can be sure that I will not disgrace you. I fear what people will say about Henry marrying his cousin, with no money, and such connections - the more so, because it is all true."

  "That must never be mentioned between us again, my dear. I daresay we may receive a vituperative letter on the subject from Lady Catherine; but we are used to that, on our own account, and can endure it. I was a poor girl when I came to Pemberley, you know; and I flatter myself it has done Mr. Darcy no harm, only good. Love is not found in a market; I want to see my son happy.And your relations - why, please to remember, they are mine too. My only regret is that we cannot give Georgiana an excellent governess, but her loss, by our acquisition of a delightful daughter, seems a fair bargain. Oh, yes, Darcy and I are vastly contented and a contented mind, you know, must be
a continual feast."

  September was the month fixed upon for the two weddings; the Darcys did not wish to part with their daughter before she had quite turned eighteen, but even with this delay, Lord and Lady Frederick's marriage was the first celebrated of the two, for Henry wished to execute some additional building at Manygrove before bringing his bride home, and the young Nevilles were established at their seat in Cheshire quite three weeks before Henry and Cloe drove off from Pemberley Church, all smiles. Wickham and Lydia were invited to Pemberley on the occasion, with all their children; and if Wickham took more of an interest in Mr. Darcy's excellent wine than in his daughter's happiness, he kept quiet, at any rate, and left any offensiveness of manner to his wife. Her loud and urgent exclamations of pride in her daughter, and her wish of being very often at Manygrove, in the near vicinity of Pemberley, were directed with many a hopeful look at her sister Elizabeth, who did not acknowledge these hints.

  Christmas was celebrated with great festivity at Pemberley, with a dance that served as the occasion upon which Jeremy Bingley first noticed that he was becoming infatuated with the young woman who would, before long, become his wife. She was a connection of the Nevilles, and a girl of character, strong-minded enough despite her youth, to require that he become less trifling; and he did become tolerably domestic, and a source of pleasure and pride to his parents, rather than a trial. He was no very solid character, but he was very fond of his wife, and being so much in company with his new family, superior people as they were, and making frequent visits to his cousins, who neither gambled nor gadded about, did much to steady him.

  The Darcys had another source of joy in the return from India of Mr. Darcy's favourite cousin, General Fitzwilliam, which happened that winter; he came home with a bride of his own, the handsome and sprightly widow of a fellow-officer. They lived chiefly in London, and made many visits to all their welcoming relations, in Derbyshire, and in Cheshire, and in Kent. They were contented to be back in England, and neither of them being young, and both good-natured, they could wait with perfect patience and philosophy for the day when Rosings should fall to them, never wishing for it to occur one moment earlier than was natural.