Mr Darcy's Mistress

by Francine Howarth

  “Does he intend to depart Hertfordshire, and if so, where has he in mind to settle?”

  “I wish I knew, but as with all men there are aspects in life they deem not of wifely concern. And that brings me to the question of Belle, for I attempted to broach the lady to him whilst we were making ready for bed last eve, and with quiet authority he advised the least said about her the better. What to make of it I knew not.”

  “I do, for it confirms all that I suspect of Darcy and Belle.”

  “But if it was a past affair, where is the harm in that?”

  “The child, for that is the harm, and there is the lie.”

  “He would not be the first man to have illegitimate offspring. Besides, Darcy has not lied to you if he has made no mention of a child from his loins.”

  “And that makes it acceptable?”

  “Clearly not.”

  “No, it is intolerable behaviour. The deceit of it all is unconscionable, and the arrogance of that woman in coming here to Pemberley to what— no doubt to see for self what a foolish young thing Darcy has wed. And oh how she would have laughed, for who am I when she is a titled lady. She of all people, the very one Darcy had wished to wed, the one he asked to marry him.”

  Jane faltered in step, incredulity etched on her face. “Oh Lizzy, you never told me Darcy asked her to marry him.”

  Eyes to a greying sky, she noted the breeze was freshening to short gusts and could have sworn she felt rain spots. “He owned to it, and I think we had best hurry back to the house. It feels as though a storm is closing in.”

  As they hastened onward, Jane turned up the collar of her pelisse, for with their bonnets part filled with nuts their hair was exposed to the elements. “But if he confessed to that, then perhaps you are wrong about Bonnie. Perhaps he is not the father. Might it be the man she truly favoured escaped her?”

  “Do you in all honesty believe Darcy could not be the favoured one, when he is so very handsome?”

  “Handsome, yes, and you despised him from the moment he insulted your appearance. Can you not see, he and Belle are of long acquaintance, and whilst good friends can fall to the occasional fanciful notions very few ever become man and wife.”

  “Had you read the letter you would understand the why of my conviction the child is Darcy’s.”

  “Then we must find a way to pay visit to the lady in question, or better still, send an invitation for her to dine here at Pemberley. What better excuse could you have than to show appreciation for her kindness in having Georgiana to stay at— where did she stay?”

  “At Farthingly, and you are right, a visit with one of Darcy’s calling cards will ensure we shall not be told the mistress is otherwise engaged and therefore unable to oblige us.”

  “Oh, but to use one of Darcy’s calling cards could prove a little risqué.” Jane then tripped over a jutting stone underfoot, and reached out for support. Readily obliged by her sister, they linked arms and hastened onward. “Aside from all else, Lizzy, a footman or maid at Farthingly will wonder why Darcy is not in company with us.”

  “I cannot imagine a servant will dare ask after his absence, nor is it probable a word will be said to the mistress when the card is proffered on a silver salver.”

  “If we were calling upon Lady de Bourgh, I would agree with you. But Darcy is an old friend of this Lady Sanders, and formality betwixt them seems unlikely.”

  “We shall discover for ourselves whether the ruse will work, and if not, we shall play act to the scene as it unfolds. I am of mind if I were to invite Belle here it would serve no purpose with Darcy present.”

  Jane laughed. “If we are to venture to Farthingley I would prefer a script to know the outcome of this rather naughty and purposeful escapade.”

  “We must brave it out as do heroines within novels.”

  Jane’s smile implied her willingness. “Indeed; and when shall we go?” said she, as raindrops caused them to quicken their pace.

  “As soon as ever we can.” On drawing abreast of the walled kitchen garden, rain spots fell more persistent. “The way we set out is the quickest way back.” Thus with sense of urgency she opened a side gate, and they hurried through and into the garden. But merely a few steps farther along the path they were forced to seek refuge in one of the glasshouses, for it was senseless to continue beneath a sudden torrential downpour. “How fortunate we made it this far.”

  “Yes, but how long will it last?” said Jane, whilst touching her dampened hair and looking to rainwater as it swilled down the upper lights. “And what of our husbands?”

  “We did rather dally in picking nuts, and I dare say the riders arrived back long before us.”

  “I do hope so; else Georgiana’s velvet riding habit will be ruined in this heavy rainfall.” Jane glanced about them and began strolling along the length of the glasshouse, her eyes to the back wall. “These espaliers bear what in season, do you think?”

  “Without fruit to identify them, who can tell by leaf alone? Peaches, apricots, perhaps. After all, Lady de Bourgh prided herself on the hot house fruits grown at Rosings.”

  “Oh, then imagine how grand it will be when next year you shall have fruit in abundance to the table.”

  “I cannot deny the pleasure of strawberries, cane fruits, and the plums we enjoyed at Longbourn,” said she; following her sister’s path.

  Jane suddenly paused beside a large pebble left resting on the retaining wall of the inner garden border. “Are you of same mind?”

  “Shall we?” She chuckled and picked up the pebble. “It’s weighty enough.”

  “Then let’s enjoy the spoils collected whilst we wait for the rain to blow away.”

  Thus they settled their rumps to the wall, and about to take turns in cracking hazel nuts, the glasshouse door was flung wide and two men hastened inside.

  In pacing the study he expressed his thoughts: “Where in the deuce can they be?”

  Standing by the window looking out on the appalling conditions, Bingley turned on his heels and declared: “That’s it, I’ve waited long enough. My wife is out there somewhere, and I am determined to do my utmost to find her.”

  “Damn it, we have no clue in which direction they chose to wander.”

  “They were not along the way by which we returned. That much I do know, and surely one of the servants noticed their departure. I shall enquire below stairs afore stepping out. Jane is not as robust as she would have everyone believe. Do you not recall the mishap of her riding to Netherfield in similar circumstances of an unexpected deluge, and how ill she became?”

  “I do, indeed I do. And yes, the time has come to organise a search party.”

  The door burst open as both hurried toward it, and Lydia stern of face said: “You have to do something. Jane and Lizzy have been gone two hours and more, and the rain has not eased one bit. They must be soaked to the skin by now.”

  “We are about to go in search of them just as soon as we’ve donned appropriate attire.”

  She snorted. “They have but a pelisse and bonnet each.”

  “With boots, waxed riding coats, and a horse, we will achieve a rescue a damn sight faster than on foot. Aside from which we shall take cloaks with us to wrap our lady wives within for warmth, and bring them back anon.”

  Lydia stepped aside to allow immediate departure. “Very well then, Mr. Darcy,” declared she in vexed tone, “though I have now sent word with Porter for every manservant and idle gardener to go in search of them.” She raised a hand to stall their exit. “You see, I noticed from my window the sky had turned dark and grey and the gardeners were busying with collecting up their tools. They then disappeared to a potting shed. I noticed a chimney, and all but a few moments later smoke drifted forth, and I waited and waited to catch sight of Jane and Lizzy coming back the way they had set out.”

  “Elizabeth and Jane went by way of the kitchen garden?”

  “Why yes. I quite thought their intention was merely to explore the garden but they
ventured out through a side gate and vanished from sight.”

  “Well that makes our task all the easier, for we can be sure they went along the bridleway. Come Bingley, we must away as prompt as able, for there is no shelter of any consequence along that ride, barring trees.”

  And so they hastened onward, Lydia dashing in the opposite direction, presumably in hope the two wanderers were returning via the garden.

  “I believe the rain has ceased, ma’am,” said the head gardener, his white hair and moustache in contrast to dark brows with barely a noticeable silver tip. He moved to the potting shed door adjoining the glasshouse and peered through the upper lights, a man of good height for middling years though a slight stoop. “Aye, ‘tis safe to venture out again.

  “Oh, then we had better make ourselves scarce,” said she, rising from a stool. “And thank you for the gardening and history lesson. It was most interesting to see the plans of the garden, and learn the contents of each glasshouse.”

  “Indeed,” said Jane, likewise rising from a battered old stool. “Do you think it would be possible to have one or two of those wonderful cuttings over there? I really do like dianthus; they have such a heavenly scent.”

  “Aye, ma’am. Let me know a day in advance of your taking leave from Pemberley and I’ll make sure a selection are boxed up for the journey.”

  “Oh I will, I will, and I must say, this is a cosy little nook. I’m quite reluctant to move away from the stove.” Jane glanced at the gardeners and the journeymen who were all busy; some turning tuberous plants spread out on shelves to dry, two were plaiting onions, three sharpening blades on tools, and others at work potting up rooted cuttings.” This potting shed is far more commodious than it looks from the outer.”

  “That’s on account of the glasshouse that was here some years back. It kept losing its upper lights when gales swept through, so I put it to the master, how it might be better to extend the potting shed and have a proper roof, and then to build a new glasshouse against the west wall; and he agreed.”

  “And no objection was put forth, clearly,” said the mistress, in stepping toward the glasshouse.

  “Nay, none at all, for ‘twas the end lights as suffered most damage, being near the east corner where the gate leads to the stable mews,” replied he, pointing in the opposite direction toward the official potting shed door. “Would you not rather depart that way and save a few yards?”

  “No, no; else we’ll disturb your industrious men.”

  “They’ll not mind stepping aside.”

  “Assuredly, Mr. Browning, but it truly is no trouble to go as we came.”

  He bowed, and afforded a broad smile. “Ah, then I’ll say no more,” and so they departed back along the glasshouse path.

  “What a charming man, he is?” said Jane.

  “Astounding knowledge all things plants and at least we contributed a wild morsel treat in exchange for a cup of chicory brew. Have you ever heard the like, a brew up?”

  “No I hadn’t, and the chicory brew was not as awful as I thought it would be, and they pride themselves on clean cups, albeit no saucers.”

  “Did you notice the pristine basket on the shelf alongside the wooden trugs? I have a notion the house kitchen provide the cups and perhaps little treats too.”

  “The gardeners are most deserving, for they are extremely industrious.”

  “Indeed, and at first I thought them full of nonsense and tease in saying ground chicory was added as weight measure in coffee by disreputable merchants. But no, the head gardener was adamant and swore any one of them could tell when chicory is present in supposed quality ground coffee.”

  “There are cheating devils in every walk of life.” Jane slapped her hand to mouth. “Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “I forgive you, and have you noticed I haven’t felt the least bit ill this morn?”

  “How splendid; then you and he are as guilty as me and mine—”

  “Darcy is not as staid as one might imagine.”

  Jane’s smile spoke her thoughts. And why deny the obvious?

  They departed the glasshouse in silence, Jane with amused expression and clearly deep in thought.

  Ten

  ~

  Two days had passed in a blur of wind and rain, and today grey skies had taken flight and sunshine brightened rooms with a warm glow. Thus whilst standing by the study window watching their husbands taking turns driving Darcy’s curricle back and forth along the carriageway, Jane laughed, her happiness and contentment apparent. “Are you not tempted to go out there with Lydia and Georgiana, and take the reins, Lizzy?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh no particular reason. It’s just such a fun thing to do.”

  “Perhaps for the driver, though as a passenger, I can assure you it is quite unlike riding in a carriage, as Lydia will discover soon enough. Did you notice Georgiana stepped back, clearly unwilling.”

  “Did she, I rather suspect Lydia begged to go first.”

  Unable to wrest her eyes from Darcy in the driving seat and Lydia seated alongside as they sped away, she could not deny her ride in the curricle had proved exhilarating despite initial fears when setting out. She turned to Jane, whom Darcy had given permission to sit at his desk and write a letter to Longbourn, the letter long since sealed ready for dispatch. “As you’ve finished your letter, would you like to go below? You can see for yourself how it feels to ride in a curricle?”

  “I do quite often; since Bingley acquired one. In fact, in pleasant conditions I have driven it to Longbourn.”

  So shocked was she to hear of Jane’s boldness and sense of triumph, a dash of shame flooded her cheeks with a pink blush. And true enough, Jane had always offered to ride out with Lydia, when she herself had made excuses to stay with Mary and Kitty, both as unwilling as she to mount a horse. As always, being the eldest sister, Jane had taken it upon herself to set an example of self-sacrifice for Lydia when the youngest wailed her misfortune of having unsporting sisters. For the child back then had duly wheedled and wheedled until Jane gave sway and agreed to accompany her for a ride. As with many things, Lydia’s passion for riding fell by the wayside when fashionable attire stole her attention; at around the same time as young bucks drew her eye and dancing became the ultimate passion.

  “You’re looking pensive, Lizzy. Are you feeling unwell again?”

  “No, no. I was mulling the very thought of your driving a curricle.”

  “I love it, and I think you would too. And look, look, Lydia now has the reins.”

  “And looking full of self, as only Lydia can.”

  “Oh that is unfair, for she is clearly enjoying herself. I have no more letters to write, so yes, let us join with them, for I expect Georgiana will try her hand at the reins next.”

  Clearly Jane was enthralled, and quick in turning about she sped toward the door, and there paused to glance back. ”Do come down, Lizzy; else it will be assumed you are a little staid and unwilling to engage in sporting pursuits.”

  That dreadful word staid tipped the balance, for she would not be looked upon as having lost a pinch of joie de vivre. “We’d best wrap up warm,” said she, in hastening to the now open door. “If you can drive, and Lydia seemingly can, then I cannot stand idly by as Mistress of Pemberley and let Darcy think me a spoil sport.”

  “No, indeed not,” said Jane, laughing as both took respective flights to bedchambers in search of warm outer wear.

  “Oh my goodness, Darcy,” exclaimed Elizabeth, after bringing the curricle to a halt a few yards distant from the main gates, “now I understand your love for this sporting activity. It really is quite exhilarating to have power over a horse without close contact or the possibility of falling from a saddle.”

  “I did wonder at your hesitancy when I first suggested you take to the saddle for a ride. Your excuse of pained head was such a sudden affliction it behove me to ride out alone, and each time thereafter excuse after excuse arose, hence I as
sumed a curricle drive would be more to your taste.”

  “I have never aspired to sporting pursuits on horseback,” confessed she, her eyes to Matlock’s heaving chest and hot nostril breaths misting on the chilly ether. “Aside from which I swear you attempted to frighten me when first I stepped to this curricle.”

  “Sadly I misjudged your bold spirit that day as more than merely a woman given to sport of verbal combat. Thus, when you insulted my conveyance and referred to it as a dangerous contraption, I resigned myself to the fact you would never accompany me on rides or drives, and to my utter amazement here you are beside me.”

  “Albeit horses are a necessity I have much preferred riding within the relative safety of a carriage, until that ride out with you. Do you not recall on the homeward journey I praised your driving skill? Besides, I could not let Lydia steal all the praise this day, could I, and thereby disgrace myself as the only one in present company to stand back as though scared to participate.”

  “Ah, then it is more a matter of pride than genuine desire to indulge in curricle driving?”

  “Not at all. Give me the reins as soon as you’ve turned Matlock about, and I will gladly take us back to the house.”

  “Bring him about yourself.”

  “How?”

  “Drive on through the gateway and tighten the left rein as soon as the wheels are clear of the gateposts,” which she did as instructed after ensuring there were no oncoming carriages or farm carts. “Now gently tighten the right rein—tighter—tighter still, and feel it coming about.” As the curricle turned, the natural feel of the horse responding to her instruction emboldened her sense of control, and soon they were full circle, and Matlock again stepped between the gateposts. “Now bring the reins in line and urge him onward.”

  And she did, her verbal command ringing out: “Trot-on, Matlock.”

  “Allow a few strides and to the canter he’ll go with a little flick of the reins to his flanks.”

  “I’m not sure I can hold him at the canter.”