The Pemberley Affair

by Charity McColl

  “Mama?” Tommy asked uncertainly.

  “Thomasina, you will please say nothing. You are but a child and you must be guided by the wise advice of your parents and not by the ramshackle chaperonage of Mrs. Darcy.”

  Fitzwilliam, who had risen to his feet upon the entrance of Lady Descartes, began to protest, but Caroline, one hand still fixed upon her maternal bosom, raised the other as if to ward him off. “No, Mr. Darcy, there is nothing that you can say. Under your care, my daughter has been ensnared by a man of vile intent.”

  “I am not at all sure that I deserve such condemnation,” Elizabeth said carefully.

  “I am quite sure that you do not,” declared Fitzwilliam. “Lady Descartes, you are welcome as a guest in our home, but I must insist—”

  The drawing room door opened. “Lord and Lady Edgerton,” the butler announced, closing the doors behind the couple as they entered.

  Lord Edgerton was a choleric man of middle years and middle height, with an imposing nose, heavy shoulders and a shock of iron-gray hair. He strode into the room to face Lord Descartes, who had maintained a calm expression throughout his wife’s speech.

  “You!” hissed Caroline. “You are the father of a monster, my lord!”

  Lord Edgerton, who had missed the dramatic delivery just moments before, halted. “I am?”

  Lady Edgerton, whose blonde delicacy and reserve revealed where her son obtained his looks, show her dismay. “My son is an honorable man!” she said.

  “He has ensnared my poor daughter in his heartless grasp,” Lady Descartes said. “He is vile!”

  Stealing a look at Mr. Cavendish, Elizabeth was intrigued to discern no trace of discomfiture on his face. The youth, sensing that he was the object of attention, answered Elizabeth’s gaze and almost invisibly, winked.

  So he was in on the gambit, whatever it was. He had visited Caroline and clearly been willing for her to employ her theatrical talents. “But to what end?” Elizabeth wondered.

  “You shall not speak so of my son,” Lady Edgerton insisted, her voice shaking with maternal emotion.

  “How else should I speak of a disinherited son who has deluded my poor child with his protestations of affection – his assurance of his love?”

  “Disgraceful!” Lady Catherine spoke up, glaring at Mr. Cavendish, who returned her scrutiny with sufficient aplomb to give credence to Lady Descartes’ accusation.

  “”Thank you, Lady Catherine,” Caroline said in a voice that seemed to tremor with her despair. “It is a great comfort to me that a woman of your renowned honor and integrity should agree with me in this matter. My lord” – she offering Lady Catherine no opportunity to respond to the revelation that she and a former actress were allied in the battle for virtue – “you have allowed your son to be released upon an innocent flock of doves.”

  “Philip’s got no more harm in him than a puppy dog,” sputtered Lord Edgerton.

  “Puppy dog? A wolf, more like! You yourself acknowledge his reputation. Is he not disinherited? No father would cast off his son unless his reason were just. You recognized this fact, but in unleashing your son, you have imperiled the hearts of maidens throughout London.”

  Lord Edgerton turned his head to gape at his son. “Philip?” he queried.

  “Hello, Father,” Mr. Cavendish responded with a cheerful smile.

  “Is this woman—what is she saying?”

  “I have been quite clear,” Caroline trilled. “My husband demands satisfaction.”

  Lord Edgerton’s head snapped back to stare at Caroline, who was, Elizabeth could see, plainly enjoying herself. “He’s a poet,” he said, his voice croaking. “I don’t know what nonsense you’ve heard, but my son is no villain.”

  “Your son is a Lothario. Did you not cast him out of your home because he aspires to be a poet?”

  Lord Edgerton’s chin jutted out. “I certainly did,” he answered.

  “And do we not all know what a poet really is?”

  “He writes poetry, of course,” said Lord Edgerton.

  “He uses poetry as his lure,” Caroline corrected. “He writes verse to enslave the affections of young girls. He creates sonnets to steal them from beaux who will treat them with regard. Every rhyme that comes from his pen, my lord, is a golden link in a chain of seduction!”

  Lady Catherine gasped. Mr. Cavendish endeavored to appear modest.

  Tommy was speechless. “Mama, Philip is a gentleman.”

  Caroline shook her head mournfully. “My poor, deluded daughter. Your father will defend your honor.”

  Lord Edgerton, finding this too much to credit, snapped, “He’s been on his deathbed half a dozen times since the Season began.”

  “I’m much better now,” Lord Descartes said equably.

  “When he learned that his cherished daughter was a victim of this libertine’s wiles, he rose manfully from the sickbed and called for his sword, the very sword with which, in another time, he defended England’s honor. He will do so again to protect his daughter.”

  “See here,” Lord Edgerton protested, “Philip is no swordsman.”

  “Then my husband will fight you,” Caroline proposed.

  “Are you talking about a duel?” Lord Edgerton inquired in disbelief. “Don’t be absurd. You’re far too old.”

  “No man, Lord Edgerton, is ever too old to defend his daughter’s honor.”

  “Her honor is the same as it ever was,” Lord Edgerton replied irritably. “Philip’s done her no harm and if he’s actually taken the time to put down his damned pen and pay court to a young lady, it’s an improvement.”

  “You expect me to allow a serpent of sinful intent to pay court to my daughter?” demanded Caroline. “You, sir, are sadly in error. You yourself have acknowledged his sins.”

  “I’ve done no such thing!”

  “You cast him off, my lord.”

  “Because he said he was bound and determined to be a poet.”

  “Yes!” Caroline exclaimed, flinging out her hands. “And we all know that a poet is merely a polite manner of defining a libertine, a rogue, a man of such unsuppressed appetites that parents know they must lock up their daughters until he has left the city limits. You alerted the world to his vice, Lord Edgerton, when you cast him off, and we applaud you for having the wisdom to do so. But you set him loose, and for that, we must hold you accountable. You will name your seconds, sir!”

  “I will do no such thing. Philip is a decent lad. There’s no more vice in him than there is in my wife’s spaniels. I don’t know where you’ve gotten hold of your stories, but they aren’t anything to do with my son and I shall thank you to cease slandering him.”

  “He is disinherited, cast off, shunned, is he not, by his own flesh and blood?” Caroline challenged. “Surely you would not do such a thing if he were not so reprehensible that you could not bear the thought of him as a member of your family.”

  “There!” Lady Catherine said. “Mr. Collins, did you not preach on this topic not a month ago? The righteous called to disown those who would, by their mere presence, contaminate us in their sin?”

  “I did,” Mr. Collins said, marveling at his acuity in preaching on a subject which was unfolding in front of his very eyes. “I did, indeed.”

  “Therefore, I demand satisfaction!” Caroline said triumphantly. “Thank you, Lady Catherine, for your spiritual insights. Lord Edgerton, you will answer for your son’s calumny. You have, I assume, a sword with which to defend yourself? I expect you to conduct yourself as a man of honor and accept the challenge. Honor must be satisfied.”

  Denouement

  The room fell into a tense silence. Caroline gave every indication of being entirely serious and there was no demur from her husband, who had been a military hero a generation earlier. Lord Edgerton did not look particularly alarmed, but he was plainly irritated by the fuss.

  “Haven’t raised it in thirty years,” said Lord Edgerton, “and I’m not going to do so now in a duel fought on beh
alf of something that never happened. Philip is harmless; he’ll do your daughter no harm.”

  “Then,” Caroline inquired, her voice switching from steel to silk in seconds, “you claim that your son is worthy to take his place in polite society?”

  “Of course he is,” said Lord Edgerton irascibly. “He can court your daughter if he’s so minded. She’ll come to no harm.”

  “If you truly expect others to believe that,” Caroline continued, “are you willing to recognize him as your son again? Or will you allow him to live as an outcast, cut off from decent men and women?”

  “He’s not cut off from the species,” Lord Edgerton said, vexed. “He’s been at a number of balls and suppers this Season. I’m well aware of what he does and I know that he’s done nothing for which he can be reproached.”

  “That does not answer my question, sir. If you expect my daughter to marry a man who has been branded as a wastrel by his own father—”

  “I never said Philip was a wastrel!” Lord Edgerton bellowed. “He’s always had his nose buried in a book.”

  “A clever pose, no doubt,” sneered Caroline. “But what is he about when not at his books? That we must ask. I repeat, sir; you must name your seconds. We will determine this matter on the field of honor.”

  “Don’t be absurd; you cannot challenge me to a duel, and your husband has said nothing on the matter.”

  “I stand with my wife on all matters of family honor,” Lord Descartes replied simply.

  Lord Edgerton looked to his wife in bewilderment. “Clarissa!”

  It was plainly a common recourse in the family. Lady Edgerton came forward. “Lady Descartes,” she said formally, “we are adults. It would be the height of folly for our husbands to meet in a duel over what is plainly a misunderstanding.”

  “There is no misunderstanding, Lady Edgerton,” Caroline returned. “Your son has been disinherited by his father, has he not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “He is not welcome at the ancestral Edgerton home because of his conduct – is that not true?”

  “He is – my husband disputes the profession of poet as one which is suited for—”

  “Is he welcome at Edgerton Manor?’

  Lady Edgerton turned to her husband in desperation. “My lord,” she said, her voice tremulous, “you must answer.”

  From Lord Edgerton’s expression, it would have been easy to place him as the fox surrounded by barking hounds. “We shall be laughingstocks if we duel one another!” he said with exasperation. “Assuming that, at our ages, we should even manage to hit our marks.”

  “Speak for yourself, sir,” Caroline said coldly. “My husband’s aim is unerring.”

  “It’s been some times since he’s aimed at a man! Lady Descartes, you must come to your senses. Lord Descartes, can we not settle this as gentlemen?”

  “Not when my daughter’s reputation has been compromised,” Caroline retorted. “She has been seen in the company of your son without a chaperone present. You have cast him off with no means to make his living in an honorable fashion. I should not be surprised if he has accrued gambling debts.”

  “Philip is no gambler!” Lady Edgerton rose to the defense of her son.

  “You have cast your son out of the bosom of his family. You cannot swear to his conduct. Will you name your seconds? Mr. Darcy, will you act as second for my husband?”

  Darcy’s visage, typically impassive, revealed uncertainty. “I – can we not settle this as civilized men?” he asked.

  “Duels have settled points of dispute for generations! Will you act as second for Lord Edgerton?”

  “I—” Darcy looked to Elizabeth. Her features appeared composed, as if this were nothing more troubling than the soup arriving late to the table. “Very well,” he replied, trusting her tranquility.

  “Are you mad?” Lord Edgerton asked in disbelief.

  “Lady Descartes requested that the honor of her daughter be addressed. As Lady Thomasina has been in my charge, I cannot deny her this request.”

  “Excellent! Lord Edgerton, will you name—?”

  “I will not! This is madness and I will not accompany those of you who clearly belong in a lunatic asylum. What is the solution to this?”

  It was, inexplicably, Lady Edgerton who provided the answer. “I believe that if Philip were reinstated as our son and made welcome once again in his home, Lord and Lady Edgerton would believe the situation had been resolved, so long as Philip does as honor commands toward Lady Thomasina.”

  Mr. Cavendish rose and made his way to the center of the circle. “I am prepared to do my duty,” he said, striving to behave as if he were not jubilant at the judgment. “If Lady Thomasina will consider my suit, I am prepared to offer her my family name.”

  “Lord Edgerton?” demanded Caroline, her carriage and bearing as regal as any of the monarchs she had portrayed on the stage. “What is your suggestion? Your son has agreed to commit himself to a gentleman’s resolution, but my husband will only be placated if you agree to reinstate him to his title, his place in your home, and his inheritance.”

  “He’s a fourth son! There’s little enough to inherit!” mumbled Lord Edgerton.

  “Reputation is everything,” Caroline’s voice rang out. “No price can be put upon a man’s honor.”

  “Well said!” commended Lady Catherine, mesmerized by the tableau.

  Lord Edgerton’s shoulders slumped. “I submit to your wishes,” he said. “Philip, you may return home.”

  “As a poet?” his son asked.

  Lord Edgerton’s teeth were clenched. “As my son.”

  Lady Edgerton placed her hand upon her son’s arm, smiling up at him. “As your father’s son, you may write poetry if you choose, my dear,” she said gently.

  Mr. Cavendish returned his mother’s smile. He reached out his hand to his father. “Sir? I promise that I will not bring shame to our family. Lady Thomasina is a gentlewoman of rare and admirable traits; she is noble in character and charming, she—”

  “No doubt, no doubt,” Lord Edgerton conceded hurriedly.

  “Lady Descartes,” Fitzwilliam began, facing her. “Are you content with the agreement?”

  “Lord Descartes is very difficult to persuade,” Caroline replied. “I must speak with him alone. Such things cannot be rushed. You are still, at this point, agreeing to serve as his second?”

  “You may consult with your husband in the library,” Fitzwilliam said. “If Lord Descartes is not satisfied, then I will honor the request to serve as his second.”

  Elizabeth suggested that the guests partake of refreshment while the consultation went on. Lord Edgerton paced back and forth; Lady Edgerton sat on the sofa holding her son’s hand; Tommy, looking radiant, sat next to him as his mother engaged her in discourse. The Darcys and Bingleys maintained a discreet flow of conversation which avoided controversial topics, deflecting every effort that Lady Catherine made to steer the discussion into speculative waters.

  Finally, the drawing-room door opened, admitting Lord and Lady Descartes. It had been three-quarters of an hour. Elizabeth had no doubt that Caroline and her husband had spent the minutes discussing nothing of moment, their purpose merely to occupy time.

  “I have managed, not without difficulty,” Lady Caroline announced, “to persuade my husband to forego his sword in favor of diplomacy. If Philip is welcome again as a member of his family, and if he agrees not to disgrace himself by his conduct to our daughter. Lord Descartes will agree to accept him as a suitor for our daughter.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” said Lord Descartes, “I thank you, but your services will not be required.”

  Fitzwilliam bowed.

  Lord Edgerton was eager to go, but before they departed the room, Lady Edgerton paused. “Philip, we will look forward to your return when your stay at Pemberley is concluded. Do we not, my lord?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” her husband answered, intent upon the door.

  “Thank you, sir,”
Lord Philip said.

  After they left, Caroline went to Elizabeth and held out her arms. “Mrs. Darcy, please accept my apologies for imposing such a scene upon you. As you can understand, nothing is more precious to us than our daughter.”

  “Of course. We would be delighted, Lady Descartes, to welcome you and Lord Descartes to our home, if you wish to stay.”

  Caroline shook her head. “We must return home. Philip, we anticipate welcoming you to our home at a later date.”

  “I look forward to it, Lady Descartes.”

  “Allow us to escort you to your carriage,” Fitzwilliam said. Once they were outside the room and out of earshot, he added, “And allow me to congratulate you on a masterful performance, Lady Descartes.”

  Her husband was smiling. “I think she enjoyed her return to the stage,” he commented. Although he showed small signs of recent weakness, he appeared to suffer no ill results from the recent episode, perhaps galvanized by his wife’s animation.

  When they returned to the drawing room, Georgiana was once again at the piano. Elizabeth suspected that Jane had engineered the suggestion as soon as she could, if only to counter Lady Catherine’s blatant interest in providing commentary on the events.

  “Aunt,” Darcy interrupted so smoothly that Lady Catherine ceased talking out of surprise and not lack of speech. “May I commend you upon your conduct during today’s occurrence? Your defense of Lady Descartes demonstrated a remarkable show of support for the qualities of character which we prize in Englishwomen.”

  Lady Catherine, for the first time in the memories of the assembled guests, appeared to be flummoxed. “I . . . thank you, nephew,” she said uncertainly. “One must, of course, salute those qualities which best represent the Empire.”

  Fitzwilliam raised his glass as the footmen moved to refill the goblets of the guests. “I propose a toast,” he said. “To our parents: we salute them – those who are with us and those who have left us – for their legacy.”