A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

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  Elizabeth did not risk dancing any more, and thus was not so well entertained for the remainder of the evening as she had been. When Lady Ellen declared they had been there long enough, and it was always better to be amongst the first to leave rather than the last, Elizabeth was quite ready to see their husbands collected from the card-room, to take her leave of her relations, and climb into the carriage.

  Long past her overheating following the reel, Elizabeth had instead been chilled by standing about on a cold spring night, and wriggled up close to her husband, who obliged her by wrapping his arm about her, then asking if she would like his coat.

  “Mmm, no, I much prefer your arm.”

  “And how did you like your first evening at Almack’s?” he asked. “You seemed to be getting on well, whenever I came into the ballroom.”

  “I liked it much better than I would have expected. I cannot say I wish to go every week for an entire season, but I would enjoy a few times, while we are here.”

  “I liked it much better than I had expected, as well.”

  “You have not been? I suppose I presumed that you had.”

  “Oh, I have been before, but it is a far different place when one goes as a married man rather than a bachelor. This is the first time I have been spared from matchmaking, and I found it entirely a relief.”

  “That was not quite my experience; I was informed that other alliances, aside from marriage, are formed there.”

  He stiffened. “By the Comte de St. Antonio?”

  “Yes, my dear, but you need not worry. He was easily enough rebuffed, although he did claim one of my feathers, since, as he said, he could not have my heart. Oh, how absurd that sounds! It was not quite so awful in his accents.”

  Darcy deliberately ran his fingers along her hair and then plucked one of the remaining feathers from it. “If the Comte de St. Antonio has one of these, I believe your husband ought to, as well.”

  “If you wish,” said Elizabeth, wishing the conversation had not turned in a way that agitated him. The assembly had seemed to take his mind away from his worries, for a time, had prevented him from, as he said, moping in his study for the evening. She did not want it to end in unwarranted jealousy, not when she was so full of love for him, this man she had defended with all her heart to the Comte. Seeking to alleviate his concern, she added, “However you, my love, are a hundred times the man the Comte is, and I do not have ninety-nine more feathers.”

  This statement was so effective that only the quality of Sarah’s handiwork prevented Elizabeth from stepping out of the carriage at Curzon Street with thoroughly mussed hair, for the remainder of her journey thither found her in receipt of a set of exceedingly passionate kisses. The Comte de St. Antonio would, of course, never have been witness to such a display, but if he had, he would have seen Elizabeth’s statements proven most thoroughly true.

  Chapter 38

  Elizabeth had been pleased enough with her appearance at Almack’s that she had no desire to look in the society pages of the papers the next day, for it was possible her own impressions of her performance there had been overly optimistic. She avoided them over breakfast, therefore, and as a cold, steady rain was falling, decided she would forgo morning calls and occupy herself in the drawing-room with a book, there to be available in case anyone was intrepid enough to call in such weather.

  Several ladies were, so that Elizabeth could never go more than a few pages without interruption, although the most startling interruption came when Mr. Miller entered and said, “Madam, if you have time, Kelly would like a word with you.”

  “Of course, please send her in.”

  Elizabeth wondered what Sarah could need to say to her that had not already been said earlier. She had been too distracted to converse much with her maid the previous night, but had imparted that morning all the compliments she could recall on Sarah’s success. Sarah had seemed pleased by them, although the evenness of her temperament had prevented any sort of true pride from appearing on her countenance.

  The Sarah that came into the drawing-room, however, bore signs of agitation even before she said, “Ma’am, there’s two abigails for other ladies here in the kitchen, and they wish to know if I can show them how your hair was done last night. I didn’t want to do so without your approval.”

  Elizabeth gaped at her, finally managed to indicate her approval, and asked Miller to bring in the day’s papers. Sarah curtsied and made to take her leave, but Elizabeth bade her to wait.

  “I expect you shall wish to hear this as well,” she said, and when Miller had brought in the papers, sought the first reference to herself, and read: “‘We now know what the next edition of Ackermann’s Repository will look like, thanks to Mrs. D.’s appearance at Almack’s last night. Society’s newest ornament was a vision in yellow and diamonds, with a truly inspired coiffure.’ Oh, well done, Kelly. Very well done indeed.”

  Sarah, whose countenance had grown increasingly pink through Elizabeth’s recitation and praise, looked to the carpet and said, “I only wanted you to look well, ma’am.”

  “Do not be embarrassed, Kelly. I believe there are far worse things to be known for in town, than being fashionable. Now, you had better go and teach your new protégés how it is you styled my hair, else their mistresses may think to hire you away from me, and that I cannot have.”

  “I would never leave your service, ma’am!” protested Sarah.

  “I am very glad to hear that, but we shall be increasing your wages all the same,” said Elizabeth. “If you are one of the best abigails in town, you ought to be paid as they are.”

  Thus it was that Darcy entered the drawing-room by walking past a very flustered Sarah, who was making her exit.

  “Whatever happened to your poor maid?” he asked, seating himself beside her on the sofa.

  “Success,” replied Elizabeth.

  “Ah, yes, and how is society’s newest ornament this morning?”

  This time it was Elizabeth who blushed, in response to what had been written about her. “I should have known I would be teazed over that.”

  He took up her hand. “I could not resist, but in seriousness, I do hope this assuages some of your fears. You would not have been found fashionable if you were not liked.”

  She squeezed his hand in gratitude, and they sat silently, reading, until Mr. Miller came in and announced the Earl of Anglesey. Elizabeth tensed, and saw Darcy did as well – it was impossible to know whether the earl was simply paying a morning call, on a morning not very well suited for it, or whether he had some intelligence to impart. They exchanged the usual niceties and comments about the poor weather, then both Darcys looked expectantly at the earl, who did not make them wait any longer, saying,

  “I have not heard anything more of the Caroline’s progress, but I have come here on a matter related to my niece and nephew. Before they departed, they had asked me to look out for a suitable lease or purchase for them, and a place has come available that meets their qualifications. I intend to go view the house and wondered if you might like to see it and give your opinion as well. It is nearest the village of Bishop’s Barrow, about seven miles outside of Portsmouth. Archbolds, is the name of it, although if they take it I should recommend it be renamed – ‘tis bad luck to retain the name of a failing estate. Knowing Matthew, he’ll likely choose Stanton Hall, or something similarly unimaginative.”

  Elizabeth took a sidelong glance at her husband and knew in an instant that the request had disquieted him. In time he might come to see the compliment of the earl’s including them in viewing the house, but at present he was wondering whether the house would be for a Stanton family, or a widower, either with or without child. Nor could he be entirely happy that it was Lord Anglesey who had been given the commission to look for a house, or that this one was in the south of Hampshire.

  Thus after a pause that was verging on the uncomfortable, she spoke: “We would be very pleased to see the house, and I hope I might prov
ide a more female perspective on its comforts.”

  “I had hoped for that, as well,” said Lord Anglesey.

  “Is it merely a house, or is there any acreage?” asked Darcy, who seemed to have recovered a little, at least enough to ask such a thing.

  “About two thousand in total. Much less than there had been – it belongs to one of those families who came into last year over-mortgaged and had to sell land to meet their debts. It retains a respectable enough park for a gentleman, however, a home farm, a few tenancies, and ownership of the village. It is as much, I think, as Matthew would wish to manage, and the purchase price is a bargain – they would be able to retain a goodly portion of their fortune in the funds.”

  “When did you intend to go down?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Monday, if that is convenient for you.” They replied that it was, and upon his asking if they had been to Portsmouth before and learning they had not, promised to send a servant over with a list of recommended inns, so they might bespeak horses.

  The list arrived, comprised as would be expected of such names as Anchor, Angel, Bear, George, Lion, and Swan. It was given over to Darcy, who was in his study, passing the remainder of the morning there with his wife, who had followed him there with her book. She had hoped he would raise the topic of this potential house for the Stantons, but he had not, yet, instead passing the time by checking the sums in his ledger-book. Upon the list’s being handed over to him, he set the ledger-book aside and took up pen and paper.

  “Are you writing to arrange the horses?” she asked. Someone had clearly always written to arrange the horses, when they planned their travel far enough in advance, but she had never presumed it to be him.

  “I am, is that so very strange to you? Does your father not write to arrange post-horses?”

  “My father hardly travels, but yes, when he does, he writes to arrange the horses. He has not nearly your income, though. You know, I have occasionally wondered – why do you not have a clerk?”

  “I did have one, some years ago – Ashby had served my father, and stayed on after his death. He left, however – found a position as a steward for a minor estate, and I cannot begrudge him that – and I decided I did not wish to hire a replacement. This all happened not long after Mrs. Younge and the matter at Ramsgate, and I did not like the thought of entrusting someone new with access to my most private papers. I gave Richardson leave to hire on his own clerk instead, so at Pemberley, Folger handles such matters. Here, however, I am left to do it myself.”

  “Well, then let me help you,” said Elizabeth, seeking out a spare inkwell and paper.

  Quietly but companionably, the Darcys sat and wrote out their letters, until Miller came in with the day’s post, commenting as he did so that there was one that appeared to have been posted from a port, although it was not nearly as thick as the usual ones. He proffered it to Darcy, who had flung down his pen upon hearing this.

  Miller had served Mr. Darcy for far longer than his wife had been married to him, and both of them readily recognised his concern. His wife, however, stayed, while Miller quietly set the remainder of the letters down on Darcy’s desk, bowed, and retreated from the room.

  Elizabeth came to stand over Darcy’s shoulder as he began ripping the sheet of address and then the oiled silk off of the packet. In the former, she could see what had caused the depth of his concern, beyond the thinness of the packet – it was not in Georgiana’s hand. Elizabeth gasped – she could not help herself – and when he reached the letter itself, also not in Georgiana’s hand, she read every bit as worriedly as her husband:

  “HMS Caroline, Cape of Good Hope

  “March 17, 1817

  “Dear Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth,

  “I write from the Cape to inform you that you have a niece, Caroline. I do not wish to speak more of her health until she is christened, but feel comfortable in saying she was rather more late than early, in making her entrance into the world, and was therefore of substantial size. She is now two weeks and four days of age.”

  Elizabeth winced, feeling the deepest sympathy for her sister, and read on quickly, wishing to know how that sister did.

  “Such a birth took a great toll on Georgiana. She was required to labour for more than two days, but thankfully had the strength to see it concluded where many women, I fear, would not. It has, however, tremendously weakened her. She has done little but sleep and nurse the child, since the birth.

  “I have seen and experienced enough wounds to feel hope so long as there is improvement, and there is continual improvement in her condition, but the pace is exceedingly slow. I worry for her. I remind myself, however, that she is young and of a naturally healthy constitution. I hope you both shall as well, and that when I write from our next intended stop at St. Helena, I shall have news of further improvement – although you may have opportunity to see us before that letter reaches you, depending on how fast our run home is.

  “I apologise for digressing. As to Georgiana’s happiness, I hope you will have no doubt. Having miscarried twice, she had come to long deeply for a child, and given such a history did not have any confidence that she would be able to bring one to bear. To see her now with such a depth of maternal love is to know she has had her reward for her trials. I pray constantly that my joy at seeing her thus is never made bittersweet.

  “Your most humble and obedient servant,

  “MATTHEW

  “Dear Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth,

  “I asked Matthew if I might add a few lines to the end of his letter. I ought to have written to you myself, I know, but I have been very tired of late. I understand he has told you of Caroline’s birth – she is the most wonderful child, and I am so very happy to finally have her. We are still, I think, another two months or so before I shall be able to see you and introduce you to your niece, but I anticipate that day with thoughts of what joy it shall bring. Until then, do know that your sister could not be happier, with the presence of her sweet little girl.

  “Your loving sister,

  “GEORGIANA”

  Elizabeth finished the letter under a tumult of emotions, but the net result of them was of hope, of optimism. Yes, Matthew was worried about Georgiana’s health, and yes, Georgiana had written what little she did in a spidery, shaky hand, very different from what Elizabeth had grown accustomed to receiving from her sister. But Georgiana had survived the birth, and she had written.

  She looked at her husband and saw in an instant that his optimism did not match hers, that every hope she felt was entirely counterbalanced by his fears. Laying her hand on his shoulder, Elizabeth said, “She made it through the birth. That is the most difficult part. And she is happy.”

  He stood and stalked across the room. “Am I to take solace in the fact that if she dies, at least it was while she was happy? She would not be the first lady to pass some weeks after the birth of her child. There must be a reason why Matthew wrote as he did – he did not want us to be surprised, if his wife was not with him when he returned to England.”

  “Yes, I believe he wanted to prepare us for the possibility, but he could not have wished for us to assume the worst.”

  “That is easy for you to say.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I know it has not been your experience in life, but the people you are closest to – they do sometimes die, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth wished to cross the room and go to him, but she was torn between the desire to embrace him or slap him, and in this indecision, she remained standing where she was. It was him that moved, picking up the stack of letters they had been writing and walking toward the fireplace. Realising his intent, she attempted to get there first to stop him, but she was too late; the papers were laid down on the coals and took to flame.

  “Why did you do that? We were nearly done!”

  “I cannot participate in this when it may be a fool’s errand.”

  “And what if it is not? They are a family now – they will n
eed a home. There is the child to consider – Caroline.” The name, so new, sounded strange when Elizabeth said it. It made her think of Jane and Charles’s sister, when of course the child would have been named after the frigate on which she had been born.

  “If the child loses her mother, it would be better for her to come live with us at Pemberley. If Matthew has not given up his career for his wife, I doubt he will do so for a child.”

  “You are being ridiculous – making plans for events we have no certainty of, putting your own sister in an early grave and making her child an orphan based on one letter,” she said. By now, the urge to slap him had won out, but rather than doing so, she merely glared at him. “If you do not wish to go, I shall call upon Lord Anglesey and ask to ride with him in his carriage. I gave him my word that I would assist, and I will keep it. When Georgiana returns I hope she will be pleased with the house.”

  Elizabeth strode out of the study and into the entrance-hall. Her temper was already cooling, but she still told a startled Miller she wished to have the carriage readied and a bonnet and spencer brought down for her. By the time Sarah came down with these items, Elizabeth was given over to regret – she ought to have soothed him, but his statement reminding her that people sometimes died had raised her ire. It had sounded patronising, but now she understood it had been founded in bitterness, sadness, and fear. Had she not herself observed how little loss she had experienced, compared to him? Had she not learned by now that it took him much longer to find the hope in any situation, but that he could come to optimism faster, when coaxed by his wife?

  She walked back through to the study. He was seated before the fire with his head in his hand, and made no acknowledgement of her return. Closing the door behind her, Elizabeth removed her bonnet and pelisse.