Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  “I failed to notice,” Jane said, “as you’ve hardly been acting the part. The day you retreat to your study with a glass of wine and a book instead of making conversation with your wife, I will declare you old.”

  “A fair bargain,” he said, stepping off the platform and kissing her on the cheek. “How bad is it?”

  “Your heir has gone through three outfits now, no one has heard from Brian or Her Highness, and they are still trying to figure out something to do with Georgie’s hair.”

  “By the established standards, we are doing well.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Lady Littlefield?”

  Georgiana’s friend from school was paying a visit, and had been invited to the ball. Heather Littlefield seemed a fine young woman, and they were glad to encourage Georgie to have at least one normal friendship. “She is fine,” Jane answered. “She is helping with the Georgiana situation.”

  “So it is a situation.”

  “Someone apparently told her to try to put it up.”

  Bingley wrung his hands. “...And?”

  “And then our beloved samurai brother-in-law suggested wax, as that is apparently how the Japanese maintain their hairstyles.”

  “But that’s if – ”

  “And apparently we did not know the right kind of wax to be used on hair, and it to be – Well, indulge me on one thing.”

  Bingley smiled. “Anything.”

  “I want to see the look on your face when you see it.”

  He could have reacted, but the door was open and Georgie’s lady’s-maid came rushing in, “Oh Master Bingley, I am so sorry – I didn’t want to burn her and we had to get the wax out and Her Highness said she didn’t know a way – ”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” he said, and with one final nudge of his waistcoat he followed her into Georgiana’s chambers, where the already-dressed Lady Littlefield and various female servants curtseyed.

  Georgiana rose from her dressing station and curtseyed. “For the record, I wanted to leave it the way it was.”

  Georgie always had her hair exceptionally short, with the longest locks reaching only her ears, but now it was barely more than shaven. They’d done their best to style what was left, and their efforts were admirable.

  “For Sarah’s ball, if Darcy ever lets her out, we will cede to your authority,” he said, and laughed. She did look beautiful – the rest of her certainly was. All of the girls were wearing white now, and nothing but, but it could be tastefully done, with the proper gloves and the unusual locket necklace around her neck. He bowed. “Lady Littlefield.” He excused himself, to be off to the next disaster, and was halted by the passing of a man he hardly knew. “Is that – ”

  Brian Maddox turned around. “Yes, I do remember how to dress properly,” he said, putting a hand on his hip. Brian was, for the first time in recent memory, in proper evening attire, with a tight cravat, matching vest and coat, and even breeches. More importantly, he was sword-less – probably. “I promised Darcy.”

  “I imagine.”

  “Will you testify to my attire?”

  “Testify?”

  Brian knocked on the door he had stopped in front of, and it opened, to the protests of some servants inside, and Daniel Maddox stood in the doorframe, one hand clutching it. “Yes?”

  “Bingley, tell him.”

  “What?” Bingley said, distracted by the fact that Dr. Maddox wasn’t wearing his glasses. “Oh, yes. Doctor Maddox, your brother is indeed an Englishman again. He looks quite fine.”

  “Glad to hear it,” the doctor said with a smile. What Caroline had said in private was right – his gaze was unsettling. His pupils had settled looking upwards no matter where he might be inclined to look, and his eyes were cloudy from the cataracts, making the irises appear almost red. “Now if we’re all done being proud of a man in his fifties of being able to dress himself properly, I’d like to finish getting ready.”

  “I love you, too, Danny,” Brian said, and the doctor smiled and closed the door.

  ~~~

  “Why is it that fathers are more emotional than mothers about sending their daughters out?” Elizabeth Darcy mused as she checked her bonnet once last time. “I am the one who must fret over assuring her a good marriage.”

  “If we could not use ‘daughter’ and ‘marriage’ in the same sentence I would be very appreciative,” Darcy said. “Even by implication. I do recall you were ready to weep when Geoffrey left for Eton.” He pulled her in front of him and kissed her gently on the forehead, so as not to disturb either of their carefully prepared outfits. “Besides, Anne will not worry for a good marriage.”

  “There is more to a marriage than a large inheritance.”

  “It is a very good start.”

  The high pitched squealing in the hallway meant his younger girls were having their own start to the festivities. “Papa!”

  Darcy gave Elizabeth a nervous smile and opened the door to Cassandra, now twelve. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Annesley says Anne is ready.”

  “That doesn’t mean I am,” he said quietly as he followed his daughter down the hallway to his eldest’s chambers. There on a stand, surrounded by her two sisters and Isabella Wickham, was Anne Jane Darcy, now seventeen and beautiful. Her brown hair, his shade, was so neatly put up it looked like nothing could take it down without ruining a masterpiece.

  “Papa,” Anne said. Even on the stand, she was still looking up to him, but not quite so much. “Mrs. Annesley says you shouldn’t wear bracelets over gloves but – ”

  “But you want to wear your bracelet,” Darcy said. “Well, you’re a lady now. You may make your own clothing decisions – within reason.”

  The gold band sat nicely on her white gloves. “Did Grandmama really wear it?”

  “To be honest, I have no idea. I found it among my father’s personal effects. He may have given it to her and kept it with him after she died, he may have not. Either way, it was meant for someone’s darling Anne,” he said. Inscribed on the bracelet was, ‘To my darling Anne’ and had been among his father’s items in the old d’Arcy mansion in France, so he must have traveled with it, as a keepsake. “You were born just after we discovered it.” That seemed so impossibly long ago and yet he could remember it perfectly.

  “Papa! Don’t cry.”

  “I have something in my eye,” Darcy said, regaining his demeanor. “I believe your mother wishes to see you, and I’ve learned not to keep her waiting,” he said, and kissed his daughter on the cheek as Elizabeth entered, casting him a reassuring glance before turning her attentions to her daughter.

  ~~~

  The evening came despite all the master of Pemberley’s wishes that it would not, and Geoffrey Darcy found himself at ease in comparison to the rest of his family. All of the ladies in the house were busy with his mother obsessing over the last minute preparations of Anne’s attire, and if there was any truth to Uncle Bingley’s jokes (which there usually was), his father was off cleaning the last of his weaponry. The future master of Pemberley rarely made a clothing decision in his life, and when he did it was often terribly done, so he was dressed by his man-servant and that was that. The only one to talk to was George Wickham, who was engrossed in a book in the library. George sat in Mr. Bennet’s seat, as Mr. Bennet said he had never cared for balls as a father and now claimed the right of the elderly to avoid them entirely, and was to stay upstairs with the younger children.

  Restless, Geoffrey paced a bit while George continued to unintentionally ignore him, played with the fire, and then finally poured himself a glass of brandy.

  “Just keep pouring,” said Frederick Maddox from behind. The Chatton Hall party was apparently arriving. “I’d better be soused by ten if I’m to make it this whole evening.”

  “Why? There’ll be girls here.”

  “All of them my relatives,” Frederick said, taking his own glass. “Well, not technically. Anyway, cheers.” They clinked glasses.
r />   “Congratulations on your graduation.”

  “Yes, I finally made it through Eton. I surprise even myself sometimes.” He smiled with his usual rakish grin. “I wish I could go somewhere other than Cambridge. Just because it’s expected. My first year away from home and my father lives down the street.”

  “Just don’t attend his lectures and you’ll hardly see him,” Geoffrey suggested. “Unless you are interested in medicine?”

  “God, no.”

  “I like medicine,” George said, announcing his presence rather abruptly to Frederick.

  “Lot of good it did you at Oxford.”

  “I did just fine at Oxford,” George said neutrally, not looking up from his book. “I was cum laude when I was dismissed.”

  “Are we ever going to get that story?”

  “It’s not polite to ask,” said Charles Bingley the Third, entering. “Geoffrey. Frederick. George.”

  “Want something?” Geoffrey offered.

  “Yes.” Charles nervously scratched his blond hair, thereby ruining the styling. “Chatton Hall’s a madhouse.”

  “Chatton Hall? Have you seen my father lately?”

  “My father hasn’t,” Frederick said, and Geoffrey snorted into his glass, Charles colored, and George buried himself in his book.

  “I’m damned for laughing at that,” Geoffrey said. “And you’re double damned for saying it.”

  “You can’t be double damned. There isn’t a double hell. Besides, it’s true.”

  “You’re cruel,” Charles said.

  “What was cruel was being woken by all of the servants screaming at your sister,” Frederick countered. “Though it was quite a riot.”

  “Eliza or Georgie?” Geoffrey said.

  “Do you need to ask?”

  “Oh,” Geoffrey said. “Yes, I heard. I’ve not seen the evidence.”

  “Well, you won’t. They’re making her wear a wig.”

  Almost on cue, the door opened, and despite the very masculine sanctuary quality of the library, Georgiana Bingley entered, her hair pinned up beautifully for the ball, her dress matching her green eyes in a subtle way with the trimmings. “Charles, whatever it is, stop blushing.”

  He wrung his hands. “You know I can’t help it.”

  “Fred. George. Geoffrey,” she curtseyed, and they bowed to her.

  “I do, to be perfectly honest, think your hair looks very nice tonight, cousin,” Frederick said. “Odd that it’s a completely different shade of red from the normal shade. How did you manage that?”

  “Just continue drinking until you pass out, Frederick, for all of us.”

  “Nice. And I was trying to be polite.”

  “You were failing,” Georgie said.

  “It does – look nice,” Geoffrey mumbled into his tumbler.

  “Thank you,” she said in sort of a half-grumble, half-appreciative tone. Frederick just snorted into his glass, Charles squirmed, and George rolled his eyes. In their families, it was impossible to not know that Geoffrey and Georgie were still barely on speaking terms, and that was to be polite.

  “Is my sister almost ready?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I wouldn’t know,” she replied, taking a glass of brandy from the table. “I am not going anywhere near four screaming girls, even if they are cousins.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I would say you have no heart,” Frederick said.

  “Good thing you do know me, then,” she replied, “or I would say you’ll be heading to the ball with a black eye.”

  If Frederick had a response, it was cut off by the bell. The guests were arriving, and that meant the ball was about to begin.

 

  CHAPTER 2 – The Dance

  Anne Darcy, the first of three very beautiful and very eligible (and very wealthy) daughters of the Darcys of Pemberley, entered society in grand style. Even though it was held at Pemberley and not London, and the guest list was restricted to people Darcy trusted, the ball was still the event of the Derbyshire summer. Families with summer houses often ill-used suddenly opened them for the summer. Even the Duke of Devonshire made a rare appearance in this part of his vast empire of English land to see how the other half of Derbyshire was doing.

  She was not for lack of dance partners, some were relatives (Charles Bingley the Third, who loved to dance and danced every set) and some not.

  “Mama,” Anne whispered, “ask Papa to stop glaring at every man who approaches me!”

  Her mother laughed. “He’s just being a father, dear. There is little to do about it.” She added, “Your grandpapa did the same for me. Now ignore him and go dance!”

  But her husband had a good ear, and snuck up behind her. “I have trouble imagining Mr. Bennet with a stern look on his face.”

  “Oh, he did, for me at least.” She wasn’t invited when Jane went out, of course, but when Elizabeth went out at an assembly, her father was starring daggers into the hearts of any man who approached the then-fifteen Elizabeth Bennet. She didn’t recall that so much for her younger sisters, but it had been that way for her.

  “He knew what a prize you were,” he said with a smile.

  “Mr. Darcy, you’ve now taken your eyes off your daughter for three seconds; she is already waltzing with the biggest rake in the county.” And when he instinctively had to look, she laughed.

  On the other side of the room, Frederick and Geoffrey were spying a pair of ladies who were whispering some distance away. “What are they saying?” Frederick asked.

  “They’re ... trying to determine which one of us is the Darcy heir,” Geoffrey said, focusing on their faces. “And who the other one is, and if he’s worth anything. Also, they suspect he may be a fop.”

  “You made that part up!”

  “How do you know?” he said. “All right, now they’re wondering why I’m staring at them. I think we might actually have to dance.”

  “The blond one’s mine,” Frederick said. “I’ll pay you a sovereign to say I’m Mr. Darcy.”

  “Not for a quid, Maddox,” Geoffrey said, and flagged the house manager Mr. Hawthorn (the MC for the evening) to introduce them. Geoffrey had no desire to dance, and as a student was not obligated, but this was his sister’s debut and his father demanded at least one dance of him. His partner was a dark-haired girl named Miss Hyde, but he made little conversation and learned little of her, and politely went back to his corner after the dance to find a scowling George watching his sister make conversation with the son of an earl.

  “Tell me what he’s saying,” George demanded.

  Geoffrey turned and focused on the pair in the distance, Izzy and Viscount Something-or-Other. “He’s asked her to elope with him tonight, shortly before dinner.”

  “I’m in no mode for silliness, Darcy.”

  Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “Fine. He asked her if she preferred the country over life in Town, and she said she had not decided. Am I to be everyone’s spy tonight?”

  “No. Dr. Maddox is doing his own share.”

  Dr. Maddox had not retreated like some of the other disabled or aged gentlemen to the card rooms. He took a seat out of the way of the floor as his wife danced with his brother. Brian and Caroline were both partner-less; Princess Nadezhda did not make public appearances unless begged, and certainly not to dance.

  “Which one is the cousin?”

  “There are two cousins. The Bingleys.”

  “What, the tradesman at Chatton Hall?”

  “Yes. Georgiana and Eliza. I don’t know which is which, but they’re both out,” said the other young man. The two of them were making conversation not far from where Dr. Maddox was motionlessly seated, leaning on his cane. “I heard they have fifty thousand pounds.”

  “For fifty thousand I would marry a tradesman’s daughter,” the other one said. “What about her? The one with red hair?”

  “Please. That is obviously a wig.”

  “No! The other one. In that nice little bodice and yellow ribbons.�
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  “Oh yes. Very lovely. What I wouldn’t give for – ”

  Dr. Maddox said, “That is Emily Maddox.”

  “Who’s she?” said the first man.

  “My daughter.”

  At that point they made no more conversation, at least not within earshot. In fact, he could positively hear them scurry away despite the noise of the dance.

  “What are you laughing at?” his wife said, the dance now finished.

  “Just enjoying eavesdropping on the brash young men in the crowd.”

  She brushed her hand over his hair. “Sometimes I think you like being blind.”

  “It has its moments.”

  She leaned over and kissed him. “Mr. Darcy has offered to take some time away from following his daughter around with a shotgun to dance a set with me, if that meets your approval.”

  “Anything that makes you happy meets my approval.”

  On the opposite side, Jane leaned in to her husband. “Who is Eliza dancing with?”

  “I believe that is ... Lord Brougham’s son.”

  “She’s danced two dances with him.”

  “As long as she stops there. And it wasn’t the first two.”

  “Some men like to show their affection by dancing with a woman twice at the first meeting.”

  Bingley blushed. “Well, he’s Lord Brougham’s son. It’s not the end of the world. Besides, Charles has danced every dance and you haven’t said anything.”

  “Because he dances with anyone. You know he just likes to dance.”

  “He is his father’s son.”

  “Yes, setting ladies’ hearts dangerously aflutter while he’s still ineligible.”

  “Are you going to discourage two of our children from dancing at a dance and then also comment on how Georgie hasn’t accepted one offer?”