A Very Austen Valentine

by Robin Helm

  “Of course, the decision is yours and is to be honoured, but please allow me to stay.”

  Elizabeth could only blink. It was an involuntary movement, like breathing, and continued with or without her consideration.

  “Stay, if you will,” Darcy allowed, if somewhat reluctantly. Surely having one more slave to his daughter’s whims at this time could not be wrong. “But Nanny, or one of the maids, must remain with you at all times during your visits to Charlotte’s room.”

  “Of course, sir!” Henry agreed, out of habit initially, then he flushed upon realizing the full weight of the statement. As if he would have romantic intentions towards a four-year-old child!

  Fortunately, Darcy moved on quickly. “Break your fast, if you will, then ring for a servant to show you to your room. My wife and I have much to discuss, and quickly, before the doctor returns. After the examination, if we gauge Charlotte to be well enough and not too excitable for visitors, you will be collected.”

  ⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟

  After hearing the doctor’s reasoning and medical advice, the parents were more inclined to follow it, but Charlotte’s terror and screams combined with the glint of steel against her pale flesh was too much for Darcy’s resolve. The doctor was lavished with compliments as he was escorted out of the sick room.

  The astute and quick-thinking housekeeper filled the doctor’s arms with baskets of treats even as the butler was ushering him into the awaiting carriage. Darcy nodded to each a quick sign of gratitude before spinning on his heel to rejoin Elizabeth in their daughter’s bedroom. In passing, he noted the door to the guest room to which Henry was assigned stood slightly ajar. He cleared his throat.

  “Well, come on then,” was all Darcy offered. Henry slipped quickly and silently from the room to follow.

  “Your staff is exceptionable,” Henry whispered to Darcy’s back.

  The responding smile went undetected.

  Chapter Three

  “Ma’am,” the butler said, bowing as he presented the letter tray to his mistress the following morning.

  “A letter from Jane,” she announced, recognizing the penmanship on the first envelope while collecting the short stack. “How she manages to respond so quickly defies my comprehension,” she continued rambling to her husband who was enjoying his own stack of papers. “Ah, and here is our reply from Mrs. Brandon.”

  At this, Darcy gave her his undivided attention.

  “Yes? And what does she say?”

  Elizabeth unfolded the letter, not immediately admiring the beautiful strokes or appreciating the familiar sentiments. She would later realize that the letter, in all its forms, precisely reflected its author. That reflection would be followed directly by the unhappy but amusing thought that her own scrawl and directness may reflect less satisfactorily upon herself.

  “She is here,” was the abrupt reply. Elizabeth looked up from the letter and glanced around the room, almost expecting to find the dame in the breakfast parlour. She returned to her study of the paper.

  “She is staying at Lambton Inn, having arrived late last night or she would have written sooner. She says to not bother ourselves with her, but that she hopes I can spare a moment to walk with her in the gardens – if she may please be excused for wanting to see such a pleasantly situated house.”

  Here, Elizabeth caught her husband’s eye and recognized the responding twinkle. “Hannah must be working again.”

  “Fresh air will be a welcomed treat for you, but are you up to entertaining a visitor?”

  Elizabeth sighed as she pondered the words and expressions again. She was up most of the night with Charlotte.

  “Of course, I must meet with her, and I confess to harboring a great deal of curiosity about them. Our son is in their company, and their sons have been our guests – all based on general good opinion. The timing for the meeting is unfortunate; however, she does not seem to intend a long, laborious effort on my part. I shall arrange the outing for later this morning.”

  Upstairs, Henry had chosen to break his fast with Charlotte and was doing his best to coax fluids past the lump in her throat.

  Their reunion had been a breath of fresh air into the sick room, and the invalid’s morale had been improved for a time. As with any ill child who is used to activity, she grew listless and despondent, but Henry had a clever way with her.

  Darcy made sure to dislodge the evil thimble from its hidden perch between the bedpost and wall, and Henry was most obliging in his water duties. When Charlotte refused to drink, more thimbles and thread spools were found to be repurposed for teatime with dolls. Book reading was replaced by story time with puppets made from cut up and painted stockings – all of Charlotte’s things were to be burned anyway. Henry’s energy and attentiveness knew no bounds when it came to Charlotte’s amusements, and Elizabeth remarked often on a new, clever method Henry had imagined for encouraging Charlotte to drink or to rest.

  After leaving her husband, Elizabeth found the invalid with her prisoner under a tent Henry had made with the bed curtains and covers. Nanny sat nearby with her mending basket but was deeply amused by the scene before her. Upon seeing Mrs. Darcy enter the room, she stood to her feet but motioned for a quiet study of the inhabitants.

  Elizabeth listened intently.

  “See here, I, the wicked step-mother, am brewing a potion in my cauldron,” Henry explained with his best attempt to sound evil and feminine. “A few drops of poison should do just the trick to put my pretty into a deep, deep sleep,” he continued.

  Nanny motioned to her own jar of honey, showing her mistress the secret poison. “For her throat,” she mouthed, not even daring the attempt to whisper. Elizabeth wondered how much of the acting Nanny could really appreciate, being deaf, but Charlotte’s response reclaimed her full attention.

  “I do not want to drink poison!” she rasped in concern. A paper cone crown with painted jewels and ribbons was poised precariously atop her head, and she wore an exceptionally fluffy petticoat above her nightclothes.

  “Nanny, the good fairy, has cast her own spell. The poison will only help you sleep while your valiant knight fights the dragon,” Henry whispered in an aside.

  “Okay,” Charlotte croaked warily. She rested her hand on Henry’s arm in a sign of trust.

  “Here, my pretty! A special treat for a special princess!” the wicked step-mother lied.

  Charlotte dutifully drank the concoction out of a dainty china teacup. It was, in fact, warm milk with honey to soothe her throat and lull her to sleep. She continued the charade by dropping gracefully to sleep against Henry’s shoulder. He gently laid her to rest, covering her with a light sheet, before backing out of the bed-tent. His smile upon discovering the audience was shy but broad, and he followed Elizabeth from the room.

  “You were splendid, sir,” she complimented the blushing young man. “Do I remember correctly that you have sisters?”

  “I do,” he replied in affirmation.

  Elizabeth waited briefly for more, but, when it was not forthcoming, she spoke again.

  “I had no brother, only four sisters. It must be lovely for your sisters to have you for a brother.” The pair had now reached the top of the stairs. “I go to meet your mother now, in the garden. I suppose you knew of her coming?”

  “She may have mentioned something to that effect,” he replied, “but I was in such a rush, I did not hear. She will be staying in the village,” he said, his words trailing as he considered what else he felt led to say.

  They had now reached the foyer where the butler waited with Mr. s Darcy’s cloak, hat, and gloves. It was April, and the weather was promising, though the wind could still bite.

  “My Mama,” the son continued cautiously, “does not have a strong constitution. She tires easily, and illness strikes her harder than others.”

  Elizabeth smiled endearingly and with full understanding. “I will be sure to keep to the protected paths, where the wind is mild and the sun is warm. There is also a ver
y nice bench on which to rest if needed.”

  She smiled again at the relief that was writ across Henry’s countenance. “As for you, young man, come greet your Mama and be on your way. Mr. Darcy and I encourage you to use our stables or fishing pond or whatever else you may find with which to amuse yourself, now that you are free of your slave-master.”

  He grinned with boyish charm and crossed the yard to meet his mother.

  “Mama, you are well?” he inquired, simultaneously searching her person for signs of fatigue and taking her hands to test their warmth.

  “I am well, Henry!” she chided gently. “The ride was all good road, and the scenery was magnificent. I am glad to have had a reason to come this way, now that I have seen it. That is not to say I am glad the child is ill.” She ended with concern throbbing in her voice.

  “Charlotte is strong,” was his encouraging reply, “and no one who knows you could ever believe you wished illness upon another person.”

  He glanced over his shoulder before speaking again. “Indeed, she is strong, but she is not out of danger. I have not told them.”

  Mrs. Brandon squeezed her son’s fingers before releasing his hands. “I understand. Your father and I just thought your sudden appearance may seem … odd, at such a time especially, so I came to offer her parents an explanation of sorts. Nothing specific, mind you. I agree with you completely on that score, my thoughtful son.”

  She studied her boy for a moment. “You appear to be tired but well. Purpose driven – the way the Colonel gets when he has a new mission.”

  “Ah, you must be Mrs. Darcy,” she said warmly, turning to address the approaching hostess. She took the extended, gloved hand in her own for a brief clasp.

  “And you, Mrs. Brandon,” Elizabeth replied, dark eyes twinkling merrily.

  She liked the appearance of her guest – all gentle and graceful beauty. Her son’s description of a sickly woman did not fit the image that stood before Elizabeth in any way. Perhaps a bit thin for her frame, but the roses in her cheeks and intelligence in her eyes embraced life fully. As younger girls, they would have been well matched in walking the countryside.

  Henry bowed his farewell, and Elizabeth indicated the direction their walk would take.

  “I hope my son’s unannounced appearance did not add more stress to your already burdened household,” the visitor said, getting to the point of her visit before enjoying pleasantries.

  Her hostess could not be more pleased with the direct speech, as she had been trying for years to break her own habit of speaking her mind. It was her preference to hear unvarnished truth.

  She smiled broadly. “Mr. Brandon’s appearance was a surprise, but not an unwelcomed one. He has very decided ideas concerning medical treatments.”

  Mrs. Brandon nodded. “He studies as if training to be a physician, but he is our eldest son and heir. That is not to say that he begrudges his place, for he truly seems to enjoy his part in the management and traditions, but medicine is a serious hobby, shall we say?”

  “His bedside manner could not be more remarkable,” Elizabeth continued. “He plays princess and teacups without complaint or sign of fatigue. The fact is,” Elizabeth paused her steps to make eye contact with her guest, “when I approach the sick room, I have noticed the feeling of relief replacing our feelings of fear and dread that threatened to overcome us just two days ago.”

  Mrs. Brandon touched Elizabeth’s sleeve in that feminine way of understanding.

  “Your son has played a large part in that change, and I could not be more grateful.”

  Their steps fell back into line. “But it must seem odd that a boy of eighteen would rush to the bedside of a girl of four years.” The large, bright eyes glanced again at her hostess. “Charlotte is still four, I believe?”

  “She is! We shall celebrate her fifth birthday next month. As to your older son showing interest in her,” Elizabeth paused, finding the lady’s direct speech to be a refreshing change from the normal, “it was odd, at first, and, for the propriety of both children we are sure to always have a chaperone in the room, but your son has seemed only to see my Charlotte as a – a kind of little sister. Whatever his motivation, and because I am convinced it is pure, I can only be grateful. Truly grateful. He is the easiest of houseguests and a delight to my sick child.”

  Elizabeth paused again, struck by a new thought. “But how is it that you are not concerned for his safety? Has his research concluded that his age is too advanced for a serious case?”

  “He has had this particular illness, a few years ago. Several boys at Eton contracted it around the same time, just before Michaelmas.” Mrs. Brandon’s steps became slower, heavier, but she continued. “Henry’s case was less severe. Once a passive elder brother, it was he who took charge of my youngest – little Gabriella Maria.” She clasped and unclasped her slender fingers. “I was too ill. Delirious.” She inhaled sharply, smiling apologetically at Elizabeth. “But all of that is behind us now, as it will be for you very soon.”

  “Gabriella Maria,” Elizabeth noted aloud, remembering Tom’s lack of enthusiasm for their names. Her eyes twinkled and received an answering gleam from her guest’s. “Beautiful name.”

  “She was born so rosy and plump, I called her my chubby cherub. Henry called her his ‘pretty princess’ in one of their special games,” Mrs. Brandon said, nodding. “He still does, in fact, but the games change, of course,” she added.

  “Now, Mrs. Brandon,” Elizabeth began.

  “Please, call me Marianne,” interrupted the guest.

  “Marianne – it suits you. Beautifully romantic,” Elizabeth commented to her new friend, bringing a responding laugh.

  “Oh yes, I was once very deserving of the name,” she said, much amused. “I was once highly sensitive and vastly romantic.” She became a bit more sober. “But one must grow up.”

  “It is inevitable,” sighed Elizabeth, “but not wholly unwelcome.” The friends shared a smile. “I hope you will call me Elizabeth.”

  “A name also deserving of its mistress! Regal and confident, I should say.”

  Elizabeth laughed again. “Do not forget ‘proud’!”

  The ladies were now nearing the end of the path where a fountain was nestled amidst the awakening roses.

  “What a lovely spot!” cried Marianne, who, even all grown up had managed to retain a hint of romantic appreciation.

  “My husband’s late mother planned this garden and the meandering path we took to achieve it. Her personal parlour was just there,” Elizabeth explained, indicating a large window on the backside of the house. “Now, Marianne,” Elizabeth began again, indicating a bench on which to rest for a moment, “on the subject of my son’s visit …”

  “Mention nothing of it!” Marianne assured her. “Of course, he is most welcome to stay on with us in London. Henry will rejoin us there where we will ensure that all boys make it safely back to Eton.”

  “How fortuitous that your residence was so conveniently placed for us!” laughed Elizabeth, now sure that her guest would not be offended by her jokes.

  “Well, our London residence, at any rate. With the children getting older, going to school, and a daughter nearing her debut, we thought it best to find a residence there. Our estate is in Devonshire,” she remarked, then added with her own sign of humour, “which would have been decidedly less convenient for your Bennett.”

  “Devonshire! Heavens, what a distance!”

  “But a very lovely setting for romance,” smirked Marianne, and both ladies laughed.

  They enjoyed more conversation of their childhoods, Marianne’s home on the cliffs overlooking the sea, and invitations to write and visit. It was time for tea upon arriving back at the front entry, but Marianne declined to stay, stating Elizabeth was sure to need a moment alone before checking on the invalid.

  So refreshed was Elizabeth from the outing that she decided to check on her daughter immediately upon entering the house. A footman stood ready to r
eceive her cloak, bonnet, and gloves and to report that Mr. Darcy awaited her in the study where the tea would be delivered.

  “Thank you, Porter. I shall join him directly.”

  “My dear,” Darcy greeted his wife from behind his desk. “How was your meeting with Mrs. Brandon?”

  “Marianne is delightful. We enjoyed your mother’s path ‘round the fountain and discovered many common sentiments and … what is the matter?” Elizabeth interrupted her own happy ramblings.

  “Yes, something has been brought to my attention that requires some action on our part, I believe. It is well you had an enjoyable time with your guest.”

  Elizabeth sat on the edge of chair facing her husband.

  “Children, in the village, sick with scarlet fever.”

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  As husband and wife decided how best to help their neighbors, Charlotte was weathering her crisis rather well. Henry had finally coaxed Nanny into opening the windows on this fine spring day, and the fresh air did much to lift the girl’s spirits.

  She had awakened in a fever but was coherent and alert.

  “My dollies are bored with tea,” she confided to her friend, “and my arms itch too much for stocking puppets,” she complained.

  “Shall we play a new game?” suggested Henry, pleased to find his patient in a rational state, in spite of her fever. At her sign of interest, he explained. “This game was a favorite of my sister’s.”

  “Amelia Rose?” the raspy voice inquired.

  Henry smiled. He had spent much time in talking of his family, but he was never sure of her attention as she had been delirious with fevers for a time. The young man was now realizing that little Charlotte had been listening and comprehending more than he had credited.

  “Not Amelia Rose,” he replied, “for we are too close in age to enjoy playing together. I was speaking of Gabriella Maria.”

  “Bennett is not close to my age,” was the thoughtful rejoinder.