An Unwavering Trust

by L. L. Diamond

  His words pained and disappointed her. Had he forgotten Anne’s wishes so soon? “Your son wished to make his own decision, which he did admirably, if you ask me. He and Lizzy are well-suited.”

  Anne smiled from where she was partially obscured behind her mother. She was so intelligent and could have had so much more if Henry had raised her. Instead, she had been coddled and suffocated by her mother. The concerned grandmother could not remember a time when she appeared as sickly and weak as at that moment. Her guilt struck her to the core for not insisting Henry remove Anne when Sir Lewis died.

  “She is of inferior birth! She is not worthy of him!” Lady Catherine dropped into one of the chairs and lifted her nose a bit higher in the air.

  “Anne, would you care to have a seat, dear.” The dowager gestured towards the sofa. “I would be happy to ring for some tea.”

  “Anne requires nothing from you! You, who have paid no attention to the tacit engagement between Fitzwilliam and her; you are lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy!”

  Anne rolled her eyes. The dowager stifled a grin; she had always liked her eldest granddaughter.

  The dowager resumed her seat where she could observe both Lady Catherine and George Darcy as she spoke. “You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage; its completion depended upon others. If he was neither by honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why should he not make another choice?”

  “Because honour, decorum, prudence—nay, interest, forbid it.” The elder Darcy emphasised his statement by pounding his fist upon the back of Lady Catherine's chair. “He was to do his duty to his family.”

  “Yet, he is married before God and witnesses. It cannot be undone.”

  “The marriage can be annulled!” shouted Lady Catherine.

  “On what grounds? The entire Fitzwilliam family attended the ceremony, and marriage contracts were signed by Mrs. Darcy’s nearest relative.”

  “We could claim she refused to consummate the marriage.”

  The dowager laughed at Catherine’s enthusiasm for her own flawed proposal. “You are well aware of how seldom that ploy is successful, but that is neither here nor there, since it is obvious you have not heard the latest gossip in town?”

  “What are you blathering on about? We arrived just yesterday. Where would we find the time for making calls or entertaining?”

  Darcy exhaled and closed his eyes. “What are you so eager to tell us?”

  “Merely that it is well-known that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth shared a bedchamber in this house—once they were wed, that is.”

  Lady Catherine’s face turned a brilliant shade of crimson and she sputtered in a most unladylike manner. “Well, that proves she is nothing but a strumpet and has no place in decent society.”

  “Perhaps that proves theirs is a marriage based on affection rather than money and connections.”

  “Love is an illusion.” She stared into the dowager’s eyes with malice. “It is nothing but the arts and allurements of a woman who has drawn him in just as you did my father.”

  “If you had ever experienced the emotion, you would not say such things.” She did not let Lady Catherine’s bait rile her, and remained in her seat, holding the haughty woman’s steady gaze. “Your father did not wish for another marriage such as the union he had with your mother.”

  “He had no reason to find another wife after my mother.”

  “He required an heir, Catherine.”

  She sniffed haughtily and again, lifted her nose in the air. “He had me.”

  “You could not have inherited the earldom, the properties associated with the title, nor the additional entailed property. Your father required an heir for the Fitzwilliam name to retain any kind of prominence.” She was not tall enough to once again catch Lady Catherine’s eye, but did not let it deter her. “You would not be the sister to an earl if he had not married me.” She disliked stooping to Lady Catherine’s manner of thought, but this old argument was becoming wearisome.

  “You were beneath him. You had no dowry or connections of which to speak. I was in the park with my governess and heard the women as they gossiped about the country girl Lord Matlock had married. How they tittered!”

  She shook her head with a sad smile. “They did not titter for long. I had what none of them did, a husband who valued me—loved me. They soon realised I did not care about their gossip or innuendo because I had that bond. While their husbands passed their evenings in brothels and visiting with their mistresses, my husband came to my bed. He never strayed.”

  “None of that matters anymore.” Lady Catherine’s voice was spiteful and full of venom. “Will you tell us where to find Fitzwilliam?”

  “I will not.”

  “This is your final resolve! Very well. I shall know how to act.” Lady Catherine rose and strode to the door, where she rotated back with a whirl of her skirts. “I came to try and talk to you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but depend upon it, I will carry my point. Come, Anne.”

  George Darcy stepped forward. “You cannot stand by and allow him to make a mockery of this family. He must be found and made to see sense. You must know that.” He spoke with sincerity and urgency, but her heart remained unmoved.

  “This young woman that you and Catherine are so set against will be the making of him. She is precisely what he requires in a wife, and there is nothing you can say to me or to Henry that will persuade us otherwise.”

  George shook his head and followed Lady Catherine, passing by Anne, who still stood near the chair her mother had vacated.

  “He is happy?” she whispered, as she glanced back at the door.

  “I believe he is, yes.”

  The young lady revealed a brilliant grin. “Good. I do not know if I can manage a letter to him; Mama intercepts anything I attempt to send. Will you wish him joy for me?”

  With a wistful smile, she stepped forward and took Anne’s hands. “Of course I will.”

  “ANNE!” came a bellow from the front door.

  “We love you, Anne. If you need either your uncle or myself…”

  “Mother would never allow it.” She turned towards the door as she released one of her grandmother’s hands. “But thank you.”

  A wave of sadness washed over her as the frail girl moved away with her arm outstretched, releasing her hand at the last minute. Anne glanced back and gave a small wave that would not be noticeable to anyone who stood near the front entrance.

  “You should have followed me directly.” Lady Catherine’s strident scolding echoed through the entrance hall.

  The dowager closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, unable to help Anne escape the harsh treatment.

  “That woman should have never had a child,” she muttered under her breath.

  Once the carriage departed from Ashcroft house, George Darcy rubbed his hands across his face.

  Anne had spoken with their son the day she died? Why, oh why did she conceal it from him? Could she have believed he would object to one last visit with their son?

  He had loved his dear Anne, but he also had the good fortune to fall in love with a woman whose status and connections helped elevate the family name. His father had made a list of families with whom he approved a connection, and the daughters of the Earl of Matlock were near the top.

  If Fitzwilliam had come to him and indicated he had fallen in love with the daughter of a peer, he might have considered it, but he was doing him a favour. By arranging a match without affection: his son would never know the heartbreak that comes with the death of a beloved spouse. In fact, Anne’s poor health was not a negative quality in his eyes. Fitzwilliam would be spared since he would not have the time to become attached to her companionship, not if she lived for as little time as he suspected.

  Most would find his way of thinking cold, but it was the least a father who loved his son could do. With the marriage, they would gain Rosings, resulting in a substantial elevation in their status. Fitzwilliam could then
wed any young woman of means and connections he wished.

  “That woman is of no relation to you.” Lady Catherine carried on as she continued to fuss at Anne. “You are not to acknowledge her again in the future. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  He started when Lady Catherine struck her walking stick on the floor of his carriage. “Now, we will go to your solicitor’s office and have the paperwork to disown Fitzwilliam begun. Pemberley can pass on to Georgiana’s first born son.”

  He glanced at the floor of the carriage, where a small dent from her stick remained, before his eyes bore down on the imperious woman. Lord, she could set one’s teeth on edge!

  “You will most certainly not accompany me on my business. Pemberley and the Darcy properties are none of your concern.”

  “Of course, I will accompany you,” she insisted. “I am almost the nearest relation you have in the world, and am entitled to know all of your dearest concerns. I also insist you send Georgiana to me this summer. She will benefit from my, and Anne’s, example.”

  He tilted his head to the side and marvelled. How could she believe the sun, moon, and stars revolved around her and her whims?

  “But you are not entitled to interfere in my personal or business affairs, nor will you have such a profound influence on my daughter.” He shuddered at what a summer at Rosings would do to his sweet, docile Georgiana.

  “Your son was supposed to marry my daughter and he married a nobody—a harlot without a name! So unless she was from a wealthy tradesman…” Lady Catherine shuddered. “It is highly unlikely she had any fortune. Anne will be a laughingstock!”

  He lost all restraint. Rosings would have been a boon to the Darcy wealth, but all patience for Catherine had dissipated long ago.

  “If she is a laughingstock, it is because you have made her one. You have boasted for years that she would marry my son without a contract or a binding agreement from me, or him for that matter.”

  “I do not mind…”

  “Anne, be quiet.” Lady Catherine returned her attention to him. “How dare you, Darcy! I am the daughter of an Earl with connections to some of the cream of society. I can ruin you!”

  He chuckled. “Think over those connections you boast of as you return to Rosings. Most of your intimate friends are either dead, or they would give you no importance since you have hidden yourself away at Rosings these past twenty years.”

  The grand lady’s eyes bulged until he became concerned one might pop out and strike him in the forehead. He pursed his lips to keep from smiling at the vision in his mind. The equipage stopped, and he glanced out the window to see her Mayfair home.

  She leaned forward in an attempt to intimidate him. “I expected you to be more reasonable. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever concede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require."

  “That I will disown my son?”

  “Yes! That pretentious upstart should not be mistress of Pemberley.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. The day and her incessant bickering had left him weary. “Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far my son might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine.”

  Catherine began to puff up her chest, but his niece distracted him. “It was good to see you, Uncle George.”

  Anne was rising to alight from the carriage, and he held out his hand for her to use until she could reach the footman awaiting her outside. “Yes, it was good to see you too, Anne. I am sorry we did not have more time to talk.”

  Once the young lady was being escorted into her home, his attention returned to Lady Catherine. “I have more information to collect before I make any decision; however, you will not be privy to my final resolution.”

  “I am most seriously displeased. You will hear from me on this matter. I will not disappear.” She stepped out and bustled through the door, prompting him to take a deep breath that he exhaled audibly.

  Unbeknownst to Lady Catherine, he had arrived the day prior and had already been to his solicitors. A better understanding of his son’s assets and the marriage articles had been his motive for the appointment, but Fitzwilliam had moved his business to another firm six months ago. The answers he received in regards to the entailment on Pemberley, as well as the legality of the marriage, were not promising.

  Pemberley could not be passed through Georgiana. The sole way he could bypass Fitzwilliam was to remarry and father another son, which he had no intention of doing. No woman could replace his wife—his Anne, and he refused to even attempt it. Regardless of his actions, Fitzwilliam would inherit Pemberley; however, he would never tell him so long as he was married to this young woman.

  The solicitors at the firm were even aware of the rumours, which had circulated about his son’s new marriage. The widespread belief around town was that his son had been betrothed to this girl for some time. She had the full support of the Matlock earldom—that much he knew was true. No one knew of her family or connections, but he intended to investigate those on his own. The announcement in the paper gave him that information, at least.

  He would make arrangements to travel to Meryton on the morrow. George Darcy would go to Longbourn, and maybe, just maybe, he would find some way to correct this travesty.

  Music drifted from the balcony above and across the lawn to where Fitzwilliam Darcy gazed at his wife as she closed her eyes and absorbed the melody. She had been excited at the prospect of tea at the Sydney Hotel, and so he had arranged to have them seated in one of the dining boxes while an orchestra played from a balcony of the hotel, the music filtering its way to the park below.

  She opened her eyes, and he started when she discovered him staring. “This is lovely. Thank you for thinking of it.”

  “I am glad you find the orchestra enjoyable. If you would like, we can walk around the park when the performance is concluded.” They spoke in low tones so they would not disturb anyone else who cared to listen to the music.

  Her face lit with happiness, and he basked in the glow of her approbation. “That would be delightful.” Elizabeth turned back to face the musicians.

  “Have you ever seen fireworks?” The distraction was deliberate, to make her focus on him for a moment.

  “Pardon?” she asked, turning her attention his way again.

  He should encourage her to smile more often. She was so beautiful when she smiled and her eyes sparkled. “I asked if you had ever seen fireworks.”

  Her eyes widened, and he grinned at the child-like excitement in her expression. “No, I have not.”

  “I have been told a grand gala for the King’s birthday will be held a few days before we return to Sagemore. There will be a concert, illuminations, and fireworks. Would you care to attend?”

  “If you do not mind the crowds.”

  He shook his head. “I am not fond of them, but I am willing to brave them if you will be at my side.”

  She beamed at him and bit her lip as her face was overcome with a becoming blush. “I would love to attend with you.”

  Fitzwilliam had studied their location and the people nearby for the first portion of the performance. If he took her hand in his, no one would be in a position to see his lapse of decorum. Now that she was so happy and pleased, he extended his hand, wrapping it with care around the small fingers resting in her lap. Her lips gave a small lift to one side, and she peeked down as her other hand left the table to cover his.

  Her eyes flitted in his direction from time to time, but she gave most of her attention to the remainder of the performance while he enjoyed every subtle emotion and reaction the music evoked in her.

  A mouse scurried across the floor and into a hole in the wall of a din
gy room in St. Giles. The disgusting creature disappeared and Edward Gardiner pounded his fist on the filthy table in his room. He was furious with his brother, who had vanished and left him with nothing. He was forced to live in squalor due to Philips’ actions!

  His hands curled around a worn copy of The Times he had stolen from a pub earlier. How a paper made it to this part of town was a mystery. After all, how many in this neighbourhood could read?

  He stared at the words and clenched it tighter in his fists. His eyes scanned the page, yet over and over, they were drawn back to the lines that stoked his ire immeasurably.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy Esq. of Sagemore, Oxfordshire to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of the late Mr. Thomas Bennet Esq. of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.

  How did his brother find someone for Lizzy to marry so quickly? Had this been planned before, and Philips did not mention it to protect her? He gritted his teeth and scratched his new beard as he contemplated his next move.

  He had no money, and Grayson was looking for him with men stationed at all his normal haunts in Cheapside. All Gardiner wanted was work so he could pay his debt, but their presence made it impossible to move.

  The announcement crumpled within his hands as he took out his frustration on the brittle paper on which it was printed. Grayson would never consider Lizzy for any kind of repayment now—part of the deal had been that she was guaranteed untouched. He seethed as he contemplated methods of retribution for his traitorous brother and his niece. Gardiner doubted his annoying, upright brother ever told Lizzy of his plan. Not that it mattered. She had abandoned him just as everyone else had, and he had nothing and no one left to lose.

  1 Refers to Oliver biscuits which were invented by William Oliver, a physician who treated patients at Bath

  2 Sydney Gardens generally had three evening galas every summer, usually on the birthdays of George III, the Prince of Wales, and in July to coincide with the Bath Races.

  Chapter 11

  A loud thud echoed about the room, and a sharp pain shot through Elizabeth’s hip. With a groggy groan, she pushed her upper body up from the unyielding floor.