Miss Darcy Falls in Love

by Sharon Lathan

  “The letter came today, sir.” He handed the parchment to Lord Essenton, who snatched it out of his fingers and commenced reading with a frown while Sebastian silently waited. Extolling the honor in his acceptance or expressing his happiness was pointless, as he knew from experience.

  “So you are obstinately determined to shirk your responsibilities for another year of studying music?” Lord Essenton sneered the last word as if uttering a vile curse, his spine stiff where he stood next to his wife’s chair.

  “My wishes have not changed, no. This is a duty I must follow, Father.”

  “Duty? How is this nonsense a duty? What possible benefit will it give you, other than to brag of your achievements and entertain guests at Whistlenell?”

  “Essenton, please refrain…”

  Lord Essenton’s curt hand gesture silenced his wife, Lady Essenton flinching involuntarily and bowing her head.

  Sebastian ignored his mother’s humiliation with effort, the commonness of the action not making it easier to disregard. Instead, he kept his voice level, his stare bold upon his father’s face, and his expression calm if firm, as he answered, “The benefit, sir, is in exploring an art necessary to my soul. Ceasing my pursuits would be as accomplishable as ceasing breathing. I apologize for failing in my attempts to convey this necessity adequately.”

  “Do not patronize me, boy,” Lord Essenton growled. “I have listened to your preaching on this need of yours for years. I have tolerated your pounding on the pianoforte all hours of the night and day, paid for your lessons, silently heeded endless conversations between you and your mother on the subject, and agreed to this course while at Oxford and abroad, always with the promise that your future at Whistlenell Hall was most important. Yet here you are extending your absence from home for another year. When will it end?”

  Sebastian fought the urge to smile at his father’s words, every one of which had not only been spoken a thousand times in the past, but were also grossly inaccurate, as never had Lord Essenton tolerated, been silent, or agreed to his son’s plans. Yet his humor did not displace the rising vexation.

  “I intend for it never to end, my lord, at least not in the way you wish. Music will forever be a large aspect of my life. I will not allow my talent to be crushed.”

  His eyes flickered to his mother, Lord Essenton noting the miniscule movement and flushing angrily.

  “Is that what you think? That I desire to crush you? Is this why you despise me so, Sebastian, and refuse to assume your place at my side or assume the title offered to you?”

  The room was silent as the grave except for the nearly audible tension crackling in the air around Lord Essenton and Sebastian. Neither man looked away to the parlor’s occupants, although Sebastian knew how each was responding to the familiar discourse. Lady Warrow would be fuming and biting her tongue. Lady Essenton would be quietly dabbing at teary eyes. Vivienne would be clutching Lord de Marcov’s arm with a mixture of frustrated irritation and sadness while Adrien would be bristling as strongly as Lady Warrow. The dowager Marquise de Marcov would be frowning in confusion. They need not worry, however. The contentions were old ones, Sebastian nearly impervious to the guilt and irritation engendered. Additionally, he was well aware of how best to deal with his father.

  He softened his voice, answering with the perfect blend of contrition and determination. “Father, of course I do not believe you wish to crush my creativity. I know you have my best interests at heart and I could never despise you. Please believe my asserted promise to return home in due course, but this is something I must do, now while I have the freedom from estate responsibilities and only myself to care for.”

  “Freedom and independence are important to you, I see,” Lord Essenton offered after a pause, his mien suddenly altered from anger to something resembling curiosity or perhaps dawning admiration. “Self-reliance is a respectable trait, Sebastian. I can appreciate this, even if I do not agree with how you are expressing it. I will never understand your drive to learn a craft wholly useless to an earl, but I see that attempts to divert merely strength your resolve and force you further along this path.”

  Sebastian shifted his feet, the beginning tendrils of uneasiness and suspicion tingling up his spine. Lord Essenton continued, actually smiling slightly, “Accepting my assistance, monetarily or otherwise, clearly violates your ethics. Why this is the case remains a mystery, since you have no issue with accepting your grandmother’s—”

  “Just a minute, Albert,” Lady Warrow interrupted with heat. “You know very well that Sebastian pays his portion and is invaluable as my companion. Nay, he is necessary for me to travel abroad as I want to, and this journey was initially my idea. He takes nothing from me.”

  “I enjoy grandmother’s company and confess that her familiarity with the Continent is valuable, but my personal wealth is sufficient to fund my travels, Father.”

  Lord Essenton nodded. “Indeed, I cannot deny either truth. Nevertheless, the influence of the Marchioness of Warrow surely helps in your… pursuits.”

  “Grandmother’s acquaintance with numerous persons of importance is certainly a benefit,” Sebastian agreed, his mind scrambling to decipher how the expected argument had taken this rational turn. And why.

  “Introducing Sebastian to friends is one thing,” Lady Warrow disagreed, her gaze suspiciously upon her son, “but it is Sebastian’s talent that enables him to pursue his education. I have nothing to do with that.”

  Lord Essenton raised his brows, looking at his mother in perplexity. “Are you honestly telling us that he is not introduced as the grandson of the Marchioness of Warrow? Do people believe him to be a servant or, heaven forbid, something more disreputable?”

  Lady Essenton’s gasp of shock was audible and Vivienne shouted, “Father!”

  Sebastian clenched his fists, horrified amazement rendering him mute, but Lady Warrow rose slowly to her feet. She barely reached her son’s breastbone, but her diminutive stature was negated by her stiff spine and regal bearing as she glared icily upwards, radiating a calm fury formidable to behold.

  “Albert,” she said, nothing particularly ominous in her tone or the word itself, yet they all flinched, even the addressee, although the reaction was controlled and he held her murderous gaze boldly. “You will beg my pardon for such an insinuation this very instant. Remember, I warn you, that as a marchioness suo jure I outrank you, and I am your mother. Tread carefully, Lord Essenton.”

  He inclined his head. “I beg your pardon, Marchioness. I meant no disrespect, Mother, but spoke only from honest confusion.”

  “Do not think to placate me so easily, Albert, or to fool me with your feigned contrition and confusion. You know perfectly well that I would never harm our family name in such a way. All know whom Mr. Sebastian Butler is when he serves as my escort. Introductions are specific, I assure you.”

  “This is comforting,” the earl said as he nodded, turning his eyes toward a still fuming Sebastian, “yet I am truly baffled as to why it is acceptable to align yourself with the famed Marchioness of Warrow yet not your father, the Earl of Essenton.”

  “Are we back to that old discussion?” Sebastian asked with a harsh laugh. “Is that where this conversation has been leading? To you harping on me for choosing not to accept my courtesy title?”

  “I have never comprehended your reluctance, Son, and I confess it continues to pain me that you deny your heritage and birthright.”

  “I deny nothing, Father. How can you not understand? Or at least accept that I wish to be taken seriously on my own merits and not because I am the Viscount Nell?”

  “I fail to see how wearing your title proudly is different than standing in the shadow of the Marchioness of Warrow. In the end it is your ‘talent’ that advances you, as indicated by your recent accomplishment.” He lifted the letter of acceptance from the Conservatoire still clutched in his hand. “Have you not adequately proven yourself?”

  Sebastian did not respond, Lord Essento
n finally smiling and handing the parchment to him. “I suggest we attempt a compromise to end these futile hostilities.”

  “What sort of compromise?”

  “I will no longer express my derision for this course, will even congratulate you and boast of your endeavors. All I ask is your renewed promise to complete your education as swiftly as possible without any distractions delaying your progress. You said one year was the typical enrollment at the Conservatoire?”

  “One is minimal, three years at most.”

  “Very good, then! Three years I shall extend with not a hint of disagreement.”

  “If?”

  “If you assume your title while here, as an acknowledgment of who you are and assurance to me that you do recognize what is most important. Then return home to learn from me and assume your place, marry immediately, and safely secure an heir.” His voice fell, the tone tender and sincere. “You must try to understand how vital this is, Sebastian.”

  They stared at each other in lengthening silence, for the first time in ages both of them quashing their prejudices and ingrained enmity to examine the topic scrupulously.

  Sebastian spoke first. “Very well, sir. I agree. With my own caveat. I will marry, but on my own terms and of my own choosing. And it will not be Lady Cassandra! On that point I will never compromise.”

  Lord Essenton smiled as he extended his hand. “We can decide on the appropriate lady of nobility at a later date, although Lady Cassandra’s charms may alter your opinion in due time.”

  Sebastian shuddered even as he shook his father’s hand. “She has no charms, Father, which is why you are so certain she will remain unattached until I return. Unless you count her dowry as a charm, as I suspect you do, but clearly that is insufficient for me or any other man in England.”

  “She is waiting for you specifically, Sebastian. But,” he spoke louder to forestall Sebastian’s rebuttal, “we do not need to talk about it now. For the present, we can turn our hearts to another marriage. Vivienne, I hear the dresses arrived today?”

  And he walked to his daughter, peace and gaiety gradually seeped in and displaced the tension. Sebastian shook off his warring emotions slowly. His heart wanted to believe his father sincere and finally willing to relinquish his animosity. But somehow he knew it would not be that simple.

  ***

  The perfunctory knock and rushed entrance of Lord Essenton before a verbal invitation was given did not surprise Lady Essenton. Under the circumstances, she had expected him to visit that evening. She knew her arrogant husband would go to his grave without ever admitting it, but he inevitably sought her when he was irritated or distraught. One might suppose that fact gave her comfort. Knowing that he probably did not share his innermost thoughts with his two mistresses—the two she was aware of that is—or his favorite girls at the London brothel he frequented should have been some solace. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

  She stifled a sigh and stood from the chair she sat curled in, dropping a proper curtsy as he approached. “My lord husband, I am honored to welcome you into my bedchamber. Would you like anything besides your brandy?”

  She indicated the glass of amber liquid he held in his hand, but he shook his head. “Nothing now. I want to discuss Sebastian with you.” He dropped into the chair she had recently vacated, on purpose she knew, and swept a hand to the other identical chair across from the ottoman. “Sit, woman,” he commanded, following it with a large swallow of brandy.

  Lady Essenton complied, sitting docilely on the edge. “Conversation is always agreeable, my lord. I am at your service in whatever capacity you desire.”

  He grunted. “I will wait to see how the conversation proceeds before discussing any desires. God, why do you wear such hideous nightgowns? No wonder I feel no yearning to visit your bedchamber unless I have no alternative.”

  She did not flinch, although his words hurt, and instead remained calm and silent. Lord Essenton was silent as well, his eyes steady upon her gown-covered bosom despite his spoken indifference. Sewn from soft linen dyed pale rose with lace edgings and gathers designed to exhibit her assets, she knew his words were false. She had worn the gown in hopes he would visit, but with or without a pretty gown, Lord Essenton knew her body quite well.

  Once upon a time he had been a frequent visitor to her bedchamber, but years eroded her youthful beauty and birthing six children left marks and extra flesh that he found repellent. Competing with the numerous younger women available at the snap of a fingertip to a man of Lord Essenton’s wealth was nearly impossible. Lady Essenton held limited power over her husband, but she was aware of his attraction to her miraculously firm and bounteous breasts. He was probably attracted to any woman with large breasts, she amended, but when one was desperately in love with a man who did not return that love, one latched on to any advantage.

  It had been over a month since their last conjugal assignation, that one induced by too much liquor and her proximity, which happened to be convenient for his needs. Lady Essenton held no delusions as to her importance in his life, or any hope for a better future. No, she could only accept and be a wife when and how he chose. She knew he was only here now to gripe and scheme about Sebastian and, once done with that, might very well leave and satisfy his lust elsewhere. As often as not, that was the scenario. With luck and a bit of womanly wiles, perhaps the night would evolve as she wished.

  “So,” he finally blurted, pulling his eyes away from her chest and taking another gulp of brandy, “how can we make sure our errant son returns home and marries Lady Cassandra?”

  “Sebastian has a strong will, much as his father does. We must tread carefully.”

  “I must tread carefully, you mean. You are thrilled to see him wasting away his life with this nonsense and would just as soon forget Lady Cassandra.”

  “You are mistaken, my lord. I am pleased that Sebastian is happy, but I do want him to marry and return home soon.”

  “Just not now or with Lady Cassandra. I know you dislike her as intensely as he does.”

  “I am indifferent to Lady Cassandra, my lord. I merely believe another lady will prove more favorable to our son.”

  “You have prospects, I suppose? And quit ‘my lording’ me. I have a name you are allowed to use, Maria.”

  “As you wish, Albert.” She rose, retrieving the bottle of brandy she kept at hand for him, and bent low as she refilled his glass, the gown gaping and affording him a nice view. “I know of a dozen young ladies of virtue, eminence, and substantial dowries.”

  “Write them down for me and I will consider the alternatives. However, Lady Cassandra is my choice and is, in all ways, perfect as the wife of an earl. An obedient son, and wife, would not argue with me over it.”

  He scowled fiercely, Lady Essenton resuming her poised, and hopefully seductive, perch on the chair. She did not point out, this time, that his “perfect” choice was unattractive, fat, and dull as a post.

  “Sebastian has reservations regarding Lady Cassandra based on valid concerns. However, I cautiously suggest that his vehement denial might be lessened if you did not harass him.”

  Lord Essenton frowned in confusion. He was not a stupid man, but subtle scheming was not his forte. “But how can he not see the logic in marrying her? It frustrates me to no end! She is sole heir to a lucrative estate that will fall to her husband—an estate, as he knows, that lies adjacent to ours. The financial benefits are substantial and it will increase our family’s landholdings significantly. Additionally, she wants to marry him! That fact continues to placate Lord Webbing, but even his forbearance will cease if Sebastian does not accept our arrangement soon. I am running out of excuses.”

  “As pointed out, you have adequately informed our son of these facts. Sebastian does not need to be lectured again. He needs space and freedom. If he is not browbeaten and instantly placed on the defensive, then perhaps he will come to the same conclusion.” When hell freezes over, she thought. “Gentle persuasion may serve better,
and I shall apply myself to the endeavor, but I still suggest you consider alternatives.”

  “I suppose you think you can persuade him better than I?” When she did not answer his mocking question, he grunted, waving his hand condescendingly. “Do what you think you can do. Just make sure he is betrothed before too much longer or I will sign the papers myself and drag him to the church.”

  She nodded and steered the conversation away from talk of bargaining a wife for their son as one bargained for a prized stallion. “I was surprised at your compromise. I hope that you are sincere and finally accepting of music as a necessity to our son.”

  “The ‘compromise’ was to shut him up. Oh bloody hell, Maria! I am sick to death of fighting with him! I swear he purposely goes the opposite direction from what I ask of him. If I thought it would do any good, I would pay the authorities at the Conservatoire to revoke his acceptance.”

  “He would only pursue another course, probably heading to Italy.”

  “Precisely.” Lord Essenton sighed, unguarded for a moment and showing a man confused and frustrated. He stared into the brandy, gentle hand motions causing it to swirl. “I hate music. Hate it with a passion. Why I ever allowed you to bully me into teaching the children is beyond me.”

  “Ladies must be able to play. It is a requirement of our class along with other artistic capabilities. Our daughters would not be as valued if not fully accomplished. Artistic talents and refinement are vital for a good marriage. We have seen this already with Clarisse’s marriage to the Duke of Tichbourne and Guinevere’s betrothal to Lord Rycroft.”

  “Yes, I have heard all the arguments and went along with it even at the risk of one of them being like my sister,” he spat, draining the glass and hastily reaching for the decanter. “And after being careful to hire instructors aged or hideous to look at, and limiting their exposure to any one art, who is it that ends up betraying me and running off as she did? My only son!”