“They say he won’t – look at how long it’s been, and yet he still mourns Lady Fitzwilliam,” said Lady Stewart. “She was a superior woman, though. The true Neuville countenance – such grace and beauty, and such breeding, of course. I am surprised at the Brandons, to accept the frog into the family as they have. I know she had a vast great fortune, but it seems exceedingly unpatriotic.”
Elizabeth, whose attention had been roused at the mention of Lord Fitzwilliam, now found her ire roused as well. It was this that formed her response, although she spoke calmly: “Are you speaking of Mrs. Fitzwilliam – Mrs. Edward Fitzwilliam? Colonel Fitzwilliam’s wife?”
“Yes,” stated Lady Stewart. “You see – Mrs. Darcy has not been in town for more than a twelvemonth, and even she knows of her.”
“You do know that Colonel Fitzwilliam lost an arm in the battle at Waterloo, do you not?” asked Elizabeth, then she continued without waiting for an answer, “Would you consider him unpatriotic, a man who has risked his life and given his limb in service to this country?”
Here, some semblance of understanding crossed Lady Stewart’s countenance – finally, it seemed, she had recalled Elizabeth’s connexion to the Fitzwilliams. “Oh, no, no, of course not. No, he is a great hero.”
“Then, perhaps he ought to be allowed his choice in wives without certain people questioning his patriotism,” said a voice from behind Elizabeth.
Lady Stewart paled, for the voice was Countess Esterházy’s. “Oh, I never meant – ”
She could say no more, for the countess coolly glared at her, laid her hand delicately on Elizabeth’s arm, and said, “Come with me, my friend. Lady Tonbridge and I had been wondering where you had got to, and you must not listen to more of this slander.”
They stalked off together, Elizabeth exceedingly glad to have her own statement so thoroughly supported by such a woman, and when they were beyond earshot, Countess Esterházy said, “You are friends with Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”
“She is my cousin,” said Elizabeth, “and also very much a friend.”
“I adore her – such beauty and grace and intelligence! Women like Lady Stewart, they assume there is no mind behind the accent,” the countess said, tapping her forehead with her index finger. “I should know. She is jealous, I expect. Mrs. Fitzwilliam was a great favourite at Almack’s and will be again, I am sure, once her confinement is done. And you – why have we never seen you there? You cannot always be hiding away in Derbyshire with your dear little sons, Mrs. Darcy. I will bring you a voucher myself, and we will have such enjoyable evenings together.”
Countess Esterházy and Viscountess Tonbridge gathered about them the most interesting of the dinner party for the remainder of the evening, so it passed quickly and enjoyably for Elizabeth, who remained with them. It was only when she was assisted into the carriage by a very weary-looking husband that she realised guiltily she had not been looking after him as she usually liked to do. Yet she did not think he had been standing on the edges of the room – that, certainly, she would have noticed.
She reached over and laid her hand on his, asking, “How was your evening, my love?”
“Well enough. Most of the gentlemen were better company than I had expected,” he said, but then added hesitantly, “Lord Anglesey tried to talk me in to running for Parliament.”
“Parliament? You?” Elizabeth asked, immediately amending this by saying: “Not, of course, that I do not think you capable of it, but – such a role – ”
“Such a role would make me miserable, and thus you with me, I expect,” he said, shrewdly. “This is not the first time he has broached the subject, but it was the first he did so this directly, and among others so supportive of my running. From their perspective I see why they would wish me to do so – I do have sufficient fortune and connexions, and my views align with theirs – but to have to spend my days making speeches and winning influence – and to spend so much more time in town – is something I have no desire to do.”
“Good. James and George and I have greater need of your time,” Elizabeth said, clasping his hand more tightly. “And our new little one, the little girl I think I am carrying,” she thought, but did not say. It was not the right time, and she was not yet sure.
“You seemed happy with your company,” he said. “I have seen Countess Esterházy before, but I had not realised there would be such similarities between the two of you, such countenances of beauty and cleverness as you share.”
“And height,” laughed Elizabeth. “You must not forget that.”
“I did not, but it seemed impolite to mention it.”
“True, vastly tall people such as yourself should take care in such matters.”
“I assure you, I take very great care.” He turned and kissed the top of her head, and then was silent for some time. “Elizabeth?”
“Hmm?”
“Be careful, please, in advancing your relationship with the countess. You seem to like each other a great deal, and so perhaps my warning is unneeded, but I have heard it spoken of that she can be a spiteful woman. I am not saying you should not befriend her – she is an excellent connexion, and I believe you do truly enjoy her company – merely that you take care. She has a great loathing of impropriety, from what I understand.”
“She and I have that in common, so I will be certain to avoid inviting her to Longbourn.”
“I am being serious, Elizabeth.”
“I have heard your caution, and I appreciate it, and I will heed it,” said Elizabeth. “Truly, though, I saw not the slightest hint of spitefulness in her. Lady Stewart, on the other hand, is so filled with it, spite spills out of her mouth.”
“Did she malign you?”
“No, Marguerite. She and her friends referred to her as the frog, and said it was unpatriotic for the Fitzwilliams to accept her into the family.”
“And what did you say?”
“I reminded her that Colonel Fitzwilliam had lost an arm in service to his country and should not be considered unpatriotic. I believe she forgot of our familial connexion.”
“Lady Stewart is the sort of woman who would be jealous of any woman who has better beauty and better ton – I expect that is why she attempted to shun you, at first, and why she would speak ill of Marguerite. She is a reaching woman, and she will step on anyone she does not find useful in her attempts to climb in society.”
The carriage had drawn to a halt in front of the house, but Elizabeth claimed time for a brief kiss with her husband and then said, archly, “I have done very well for myself: an husband who flatters his wife by speaking of her beauty multiple times during one carriage ride and turns down an offer to run for Parliament, which his connexions would surely have seen to success; he will instead spend his time with his family.”
“Who is to say I am to spend this time I am saving with my family?” he said, stepping out once the door had been opened, and handing Elizabeth down. “Perhaps I shall spend my time at the clubs, drinking brandy and talking of sport.”
Elizabeth laughed heartily. “Be careful what you speak of, for you shall be going to one club, at least – Countess Esterházy has promised me a voucher for Almack’s.”
Darcy groaned. “Do you truly wish to go to that place? Either of our aunts could have procured you a voucher before now, although aunt Catherine would have groused about it exceedingly.”
“I cannot say that I did, but you know I cannot turn it down if it is given by such a personage. And it has been ages since I have danced. I expect both a quadrille and a waltz from you, Mr. Darcy. Nothing less will do.”
Chapter 35
Elizabeth had worried that the weather, which continued to be poor more often than it was good, would ruin their planned Richmond outing, but the sky the next day dawned grey but clear, and she and Darcy made the trip precisely as they had planned. They returned in excellent spirits, arriving at Curzon Street as the evening was turning to twilight, Elizabeth intending to have what little dinner she had pla
nned saved for supper, for they were still very full from the bounteous picnic that had been sent with them.
Miller gave them what seemed a particularly deep bow upon their coming into the entrance-hall, and said, “Sir, Madam, there have been seventeen cards left for Mrs. Darcy – ”
“Seventeen?” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Yes, madam, seventeen,” he said, handing them to her. Countess Esterházy’s card had been given place of prominence at the top of the pile, but Elizabeth had no chance to see the names of her other callers, for Miller continued, nervously,
“And Lady Catherine de Bourgh is awaiting you in the drawing-room. I told her you were not at home, sir,” he said, now addressing himself to Darcy, “but she would not have it. She insisted on going in and waiting and there was nothing I could do short of restraining her – ”
“You did well, Miller,” Darcy said. “I do not expect you to be equipped with stratagems for dealing with such behaviour.”
“Thank you, sir,” Miller said, with a relieved bow. “She has been offered refreshment several times but has refused it.”
Darcy sighed. “Thank you, Miller. May I hope that is all you have to tell us?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well, you are dismissed.” Darcy turned towards his wife with a look of exasperation. “I suppose this was inevitable. I ought to have called on her when we first arrived, rather than leave matters so that she could disrupt the household. Do you wish to go up to the nursery? She is my aunt by birth, and I do not wish to require you to suffer whatever unpleasant scene she is about to supply.”
“No, I will go with you,” Elizabeth said, although she did ache to see her sons, and their company was certainly to be preferred over that of Lady Catherine.
Darcy opened the door to the drawing-room and escorted his wife through only after he had kissed her. Elizabeth had expected to see Lady Catherine at her most fiery and formidable, but instead found a woman who seemed finally to look her age, as though she had withered, her shoulders slumped as she sat there upon the settee. Lady Catherine squared them again as she heard them come in, however, and seemed to summon her usual vehemence.
“You have kept me waiting quite long enough, nephew.”
“As we had no fixed appointment, I do not see why you should think so, aunt Catherine. You might have left your card, as everyone else did.”
“Oh yes, I have seen all of Mrs. Darcy’s cards in the hall. I understand she has used her arts to insinuate herself into Countess Esterházy’s circle.”
“Speak carefully, aunt Catherine, or this will be a very short interview,” Darcy said. “I have warned you too many times already. I shall not do so again.”
“Interview – there is no need for an interview. You know why I am here, so you can help me annul Anne’s marriage to that – that farmer.”
“As I wholly sanctioned the marriage and gave Anne away to one of the best men I have had the honour to know, I do not see why you think I would be of assistance in doing so.”
“Fitzwilliam, you foolish boy! It is unconscionable that the granddaughter of an earl should marry such a man, that she should defile herself in forming such a connexion. I know where the fault lies, though. Anne would never have thought to do such a thing, without the influence of your wife – ”
“I gave you fair warning, aunt, and you did not heed it. This conversation is done. Mrs. Darcy, shall we go up and see the children?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy, I think so,” Elizabeth said, taking up his proffered arm, and walking with him toward the doorway.
“You will leave my presence in such a manner?” exclaimed Lady Catherine. “You will turn your back on your aunt, nearly the closest living relation you have? Care you nothing for your own familial connexions?”
“I care deeply for my familial connexions,” said Darcy, turning back toward her, “and you have alienated all of them. It is you who have chosen to be the lone wolf. If you wish to make amends, I will be the first to attempt to bring you back into the fold, but all you have chosen to make are insults, and until you cease those ways, the family will continue on without you.”
“Fitzwilliam! Ungrateful child! I have not done speaking with you – ” Lady Catherine must have continued on, but the Darcys heard no more, having progressed out of earshot back into the entrance-hall, where Darcy told Mr. Miller, “Lady Catherine is not to come upstairs, even if you are required to restrain her to make it so.”
Miller’s eyes widened. “Bu – very well, sir.”
Lady Catherine was perhaps more easily forgotten than she should have been, once Elizabeth entered the nursery, for James squealed, “mamapapa!” and ran to her and her husband on his wobbly young legs, followed immediately by his younger brother.
“Oh, my little boys, have you missed me as I have missed you?” asked Elizabeth, kneeling down to embrace them both, an attitude in which she was joined by her husband. “Soon enough I suspect we shall all go out as a family, for I am certain your father will be going to Tattersalls, to purchase ponies for the both of you.”
Darcy chuckled beside her. “Children’s ponies are not purchased at Tattersalls, darling.”
“Oh, then where are they purchased?” Elizabeth asked, then realising George was attempting to pull the calling cards from her hand, “George, no, leave those for your mama.”
“You have been very popular today,” Darcy said, eyeing the cards in her hand.
“Yes, I do not believe I know half of these ladies,” said Elizabeth, rifling through the cards. “I must presume this to be Countess Esterházy’s doing.”
“Or the gossip pages’ doing. I expect her favourable impression of you at last night’s dinner was made known. So the fortunate thing for you is that not all of those calls need be returned – some of them will be grasping women who see you as a way to better ton.”
“Like Lady Stewart?” asked Elizabeth. “Her card is here.”
“Ah. You shall have to decide whether to cut her, then, over what she said about Marguerite.”
“I loathe what she said, but I do not know that I wish to take such a step for anyone.”
“You need not make your decision right away. If you do decide to return her call, it should not be among the first you return.”
“No, that must be Countess Esterházy, of course.”
“Yes, of course.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around George, who had given up on the cards and now wished to snuggle. “I have not forgotten what you said, my love. I will be careful, in furthering a friendship with the countess.”
Darcy attempted to nod with his usual dignity, but as James had chosen to eschew snuggling in favour of attempting to climb up and over his father’s back, giggling tremendously at what he was about and drawing his brother into giggles as well, Darcy did not remotely succeed.
+++
Elizabeth awoke the next morning to find the bed beside her still warm. Although she had never considered herself a late riser, her husband often rose at impossibly early hours, and she suspected on this morning that she had awoke earlier, rather than the alternative. Almost since the moment of her waking – and perhaps before – her mind had been engaged with the calls she needed to make that day, beginning with Countess Esterházy and then continuing through the most notable of the cards she had received the day before.
Although she had not spoken of such matters with Sarah, something of the import of Elizabeth’s situation must have reached her maid, for she proposed the very best of Elizabeth’s day dresses, and once Elizabeth had been dressed in it, asked hesitantly,
“Will you be going to the modiste today, ma’am? Is there anything I may assist you with, there?”
“I had not intended to,” said Elizabeth, shrewdly, “but you seem to think it necessary. Are my dresses so very passé?”
“Oh not for Derbyshire, ma’am, but, well, you’ve seen the dresses here in town. There’s only so much I can do with adding extra trim, and the most
modern cuts would become your figure so very well. It needn’t take too much of your time – just long enough to choose your fabrics and have fresh measurements done. I can see everything through.”
More because she did not wish to vex Sarah than for any other reason did Elizabeth agree to meet her at the modiste’s in the course of the morning. She could make the most important of her calls and then make the stop, she thought, and then she looked sceptically at her maid. Sarah’s request that she have new dresses made might – from another lady’s maid – have been an obvious attempt to speed up the jettisoning of Elizabeth’s older gowns, and therefore Sarah’s receipt of perquisites. Yet Elizabeth had no reason to think this formed Sarah’s motivation; no, Sarah had always made every attempt possible to see her lady well-attired, and since they had arrived in London she had been particularly keen to see her lady dressed in the latest fashions. Elizabeth could not but admit that she ought to see Sarah’s wishes through, particularly if she was to be attending Almack’s. In exchange for this dedication, Elizabeth thought she would give Sarah some older dresses, certain the funds raised from their sale would go to assisting the Kellys in making a successful start on the new farm.
Elizabeth was not the sort of lady who spent her life chasing the latest fashions, but when roused to the thought of new frocks, could turn her mind quite pleasantly to them, and she was considering what shades and trim she might pursue as she came down to breakfast. She was startled, upon entering the room, to find Colonel Fitzwilliam there, drinking coffee with her husband.
“Edward!” she exclaimed. “What brings you here so early this morning?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he replied.
“I could tell you – what are you speaking of?”
“Pray forgive me. Where are my manners?” he asked. Elizabeth had entered on his side of the table, and he rose, gave her cheek a cousinly kiss, then pulled out a chair for her. Only after she was seated did he say, “Our family came to understand yesterday that we were unwittingly the talk of the town – apparently there were grievous insults made to us by Lady Stewart at a dinner party given by the Castlereaghs. I understand you were present, and I wondered if you might provide more of the details.”
A Season Lost Page 54
