Mr Darcy's Mistress

by Francine Howarth

  “Come to bed, my love,” said he, taking her hand. “For a birthday surprise will await your attention at precisely thirty after eleven of morn.”

  Fourteen

  ~

  Albeit she was another year older and a married woman at that, she felt no different than when Lydia’s age. And yet, she was no longer Elizabeth Bennet, no longer innocent and chaste, no longer naive in matters of marital duty. Whilst love’s young dream had encapsulated all that was expected of young ladies, never had she learned Jane’s art for attracting young gentlemen. The perfected coyness of lowered lashes, secret smiles, and the softness of her elder sister’s voice which seemingly enchanted the male of the species: oh how the gentle art of seduction had always escaped her. And Lydia, the extreme opposite, so full of flamboyant gestures and excitable nature, laughter and jest her forte, and despite her being the youngest, again she had drawn the eyes of young officers in Meryton. All the while Miss Elizabeth Bennet, given to moments of uncertainty as to whether a young gentleman had his eye to her appearance, whether one matched his expectations, it was so much easier to put them ill at ease and never risk one’s heart to falsehoods and feigned affections. Then along came Wickham, so dashing, so charming, his prior despicable behaviour with Georgiana unknown, his attentions utterly flattering. Then to later discover he was Wickham the rogue, whom she had thought of as a gentleman officer, and all the while quite having marked Darcy as a dastardly obnoxious and pompous individual. Oh how foolish she had felt on learning the absolute truth.

  “Your breakfast must be cold, Lizzy,” said Jane, “and you’ve barely eaten a morsel.”

  Drawn from heartfelt reverie she glanced down at coddled eggs and kidneys on toast. “Oh dear, what a dreadful waste.”

  Porter stepped forward. “Will you have the same again, ma’am, hot from the kitchens?”

  “Indeed she, will,” said Darcy seated at the head of the table. “Despite a sunny morn we shall all be venturing outside later, and sustenance is a must for what is to come.”

  Porter leaned forward on her right hand side and removed her plate, and departed the room.

  Lydia then leaned forward and touched her arm. “Whilst you’re waiting, you may as well have my birthday offering.” Thus Lydia drew from her lap a tiny ribbon bound box and held it out in the palm of her hand. “Happy Birthday, dear sister. It’s not very big, because I couldn’t afford much, but I think you will like it.”

  “Oh Lydia, whatever it is, it’s precious to me.”

  Positively glowing with sense of pride and as eager for her elder sister to open the box, as she at untying the ribbon bow and lifting the lid, Lydia chuckled as a miniature book was tipped forth.

  It was that of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet which caused tears to well.

  “Do you, do you like it?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s lovely,” said she, in pushing back her chair and to her feet in an instant. “Oh Lydia, thank you, thank you, it really is a lovely gift.”

  Her embrace of Lydia pleased her younger sister; that was obvious to all, not least Darcy, who had provided sovereigns for Lydia to purchase items for herself.

  “The book isn’t new, but it looks new, and it has been well looked after by the pawnbroker. He found it in a back room shortly after his father had died and it had a deposit label attached dated 1779. As no one had repossessed it since the day of its confinement to the backroom, he brought it out and placed it in the window for sale. It was priced at a little more than I was prepared to pay, and so I bartered with him and still he would not drop his price to my estimate of value, then I told him a sorry tale that I only had one sovereign, and—”

  “She fell to tears and he gave it to her for the sovereign,” said Georgiana, who promptly burst into laughter. “It did seem as though he just wanted us out of his premises, but he then said, if ever she fell on hard times she could go and work for him, and he winked. I think he rather liked her playacting. I am so very glad you like it, for it is a treasure with its etchings.”

  “Indeed it is,” said she, in placing a parting kiss on Lydia’s head.

  “Would you like to open my offering,” asked Georgiana in reaching down beside her chair, and then proffering a tall bandbox.

  “Oh goodness, what have I here?”

  “It will suit you, methinks.”

  Her heart almost stalled on lifting the lid, the top hat was exquisite with its net veil, but she didn’t ride to hounds, in fact didn’t ride at all if she could avoid doing so. But nonetheless she removed it from the box. And with great care she raised the veil to rest it on the hat’s brim and placed the whole on her head.

  “It does suit you; perfectly,” enthused Georgiana, “do you not agree, Fitz?”

  “The very height of fashion,” replied he, at the point of placing his lips to the rim of his cup.

  What could the birthday girl say but, “Thank you,” and bestow a warm embrace upon her younger sister-in-law.

  Georgiana’s expression bore sense of trepidation, the gift perhaps thought of as unacceptable; therefore expedient reassurance was put forth. “It’s lovely, Georgiana, it really is, and I shall wear it when Darcy takes me out in the curricle.”

  Georgiana’s face blossomed with a smile, relief and delight evident as she blushed, and said: “It is for equestrian purposes, though I feared you may have thought it was for riding to hounds, for I recall your saying you are not especially given to the saddle.”

  “No, I am not, that much is true.”

  “Nor I,” said Jane, in sisterly support, “though will oblige if need dictates.”

  “My love,” said Bingley, seated across from Jane, “you drive and I ride, and that is good enough for me.”

  “But did you not say you do like a good day in the hunting field, and I would derive little pleasure from that activity. My riding skills are such I prefer a horse at the walk, a trot here and there on occasion but am always well pleased at no canter. The gallop is simply terrifying, and I never plucked sufficient courage to do it again, and father said I was well-advised to keep my feet on the ground in future. Mother insisted otherwise, to little avail when I suffered a rather undignified fall from old Clancy. Do you remember him, Lizzy?”

  “How could I forget the old grey cob, and shall never forget my first ride on Clancy. Albeit he was a gentle soul, he could stop on a pin head if reined in too quickly from the trot. And unlike you, who toppled off sideways; I flew over his head and landed in a cow pat.”

  “We were two-up with no saddle, and a pair of ragamuffins we must have looked with skirts hitched up and riding astride. And to then end up walking back with old Clancy it was no wonder father’s groom smirked.”

  Bingley chuckled. “I would have loved to have witnessed the spectacle of you two seated astride a bareback horse.”

  “We were but children back then,” said Jane, doing her very best to refrain from laughter, when Lydia snorted and she and Georgiana fell to a severe bout of giggles.

  Darcy laughed, quite animated in waving his table napkin. “Oh dear heaven, it does not bear letting one’s mind wander to the upending of my dear wife over the equine’s head.”

  Bingley’s chuckle fell to raucous laughter, and the room erupted as Porter reappeared with plate and silver lid atop it. Quite having missed out on their discourse the poor fellow was at a loss in understanding the why of their laughter, his expression clearly denoting the infectiousness of their jollity. In coming to stand at her left side, he said with a tentative smile, “Cook’s compliments, ma’am; from all below stairs.”

  In lifting the lid to expose the contents of the plate, there were two coddled eggs and kidneys on toast, and garnish of parsley spelling out the words Happy Birthday around the edge. “Oh how sweet of her, but how did she—ah, then I must thank you, Porter.”

  “As you wish, ma’am.” He then bowed and stepped away.

  His entrance was welcome in having distracted all from a slightly embarrassing recollectio
n of childhood, made worse by Darcy’s comment. But once again those at table were indulging in discourse between themselves.

  Determined to eat every morsel laid before her she refrained from joining in the discussion of the latest fashionable bent, to which Lydia and Georgiana were enthusing over with excited glee. Momentary eye contact with Darcy revealed a mischievous sparkle, and she sensed something was afoot, for he and Bingley were as good as whispering and Jane engrossed in their interaction. It was impossible to hear what was said at the other end of the table with the two young women chattering in close proximity.

  Porter in the meanwhile replenished the cups at the upper end with more coffee. Even as Porter made toward the lower end of the table she wished she could ask him to reveal all he had overheard whilst in attendance to Darcy, Bingley, and Jane, but such would be unfair to the head footman. Instead she pondered why Darcy had but a head footman attending to their needs instead of a butler. In all other respects the household matched that of Lady de Bourgh’s rank and file of household staff.

  Thus the notion of the missing butler gave rise to the why of it, and she would ask when time afforded her and Darcy a moment alone. It was one of those little mysteries that arise from time to time, and when noted one simply feels compelled to unravel the why of it.

  “Gosh,” exclaimed Lydia, “it’s almost ten of the clock. Did you not think it was dreadfully improper to be so late in rising from bed this morn? Quite scandalous, all told, and nothing to do with over imbibing of wine at supper, as I could see.” She glanced to the upper end of the table and back to the mistress of Pemberley. “What did Darcy give you for your birthday, Lizzy?”

  “Nothing, but a birthday kiss,” replied she, voice lowered.

  Lydia leaned close, and whispered: “Not even a special birthday romp in bed?”

  “You expect me to answer that?”

  “That’s answer enough,” the retort; accompanied with a wicked glint in Lydia’s eyes and a smile denoting absolute certainty of the pleasurable sport enacted by Darcy.

  “You are irredeemable, I fear.”

  Lydia beamed with sense of pride all things marital pleasures of the flesh. “Without any shadow of doubt, and a shameless hussy to boot.”

  “It is the happy circumstance of marriage,” said Georgiana, “when one can display affections in private without fear of offending another’s sensibilities in public. Goodness, to hear my Aunt Catherine putting forth on the subject of moral responsibility and social etiquette is astounding. The mere clasping of hands between a couple deeply attracted one to the other, in her estimation, is liable to ruination of said lady.”

  “Oh how silly,” said Lydia, “when almost every dance requires touching of hands.”

  “Quite, but Aunt is adamant when at the dance, the touch should be so light one can barely feel it.”

  Lydia lowered her voice to a whisper. “I dare say Lady de Bourgh’s marriage was pre-arranged by parental edict. Would that not account for her rather frigid notions, and lack thereof to the overt joy of being courted by a man who desires his betrothed above all others?”

  Georgiana likewise fell to whispered response. “It was indeed an arranged marriage between my aunt and Sir Lewis de Bourgh, just as my parents were obliged to wed by parental influence.”

  “I had quite forgotten your mother and Lady de Bourgh were sisters,” said Lydia, whilst slapping a hand to her mouth, and then: “How thoughtless of me, and pray I have not scorched the name Fitzwilliam?”

  “I take no umbrage, Lydia, for it is a known fact within the family, the marriage between my parents was intentional to better my mother’s fortunes and to save the Fitzwilliam estate for future generations. I should not really reveal my maternal grandfather’s titled estate fell into dire straits, for it was through no wont of his mismanagement, it was due to his father, my great grandfather. As I understand the situation, the 5th Earl entered into the disastrous investment crisis of 1720, the South Sea Bubble. Apparently he came close to losing all that he possessed, and from overhearing Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy in private discourse, the estate was saved by mother’s marriage to my father, who in turn obliged a personal loan to my mother’s brother, the 6th earl. I cannot be sure, but I do believe a similar arrangement was agreed between Sir Lewis de Bourgh, a friend of grandfather’s. They had, of course, both studied at Cambridge University, albeit from quite differing backgrounds.”

  “Heavens, what a harrowing experience for the old earl.”

  “Indeed, and I did fear Darcy would seek an arranged marriage for me, but he says he will not. My fear stemmed from Aunt Catherine’s desire to enact prior agreed wedlock between Darcy, and of all people cousin Anne. Aunt Catherine deemed it necessary in respect of my late mother’s expressed wish. The old earl disapproved of such a marriage, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was of like mind, so too his elder brother the future earl. Darcy resisted the notion as best he could without unduly upsetting her ladyship, and then he met Elizabeth.”

  Lydia screwed her nose. “Thank the Lord, he did, else imagine the unpalatable rumours of two close kin in wedlock?”

  “Who can say, he may have remained a bachelor to his dying day rather than oblige Aunt Catherine.”

  Or may have married Belle, given time. Of course, Georgiana would no more say that, than his present wife would venture to that notion within her company.

  Having finished her delicious fare, the mistress of Pemberley dared not say Georgiana’s enlightenment proclaimed the Fitzwilliam daughters, the Lady Anne, and Lady Catherine, were as good as sold to save the Fitzwilliam estate for its hereditary heirs. Indeed the family portraits defined a considerable age difference between Darcy’s father and his mother, and may explain why Mr. Darcy senior passed on whilst Georgiana was but a small child, the mother sadly having perished shortly after giving birth.

  As soon as laying the cutlery to her plate so Porter stepped forward, and asked: “Is fresh coffee required all round, ma’am? If so, there’s a goodly fire ablaze in the morning room.”

  She glanced along the table, and asked: “More coffee, anyone, or shall we retire to the small drawing room?”

  Darcy responded with immediate action of getting to his feet. “Ah, if we’re done here, Bingley and I will retreat to the study.”

  Bingley leapt to his feet as though eager to make a run for the hills, whilst Jane upped from her seat and said: “Yes, let’s Lizzy, for I had thought we would all present our offerings away from the breakfast table.”

  Lydia addressed Jane: “Well I couldn’t wait that long, nor could Georgiana. We wanted Lizzy to have something to show we love her, and as soon as able.” Lydia then laughed as the two men rushed from the room as though hounds were at their heels baying for their blood, the door closing behind them. “Mark my words, they’re up to something. What could it be?”

  Jane laughed. “All good things come to those who wait in patient silence.”

  It’s not my birthday and I’m as frustrated as Lizzy, in wont to know what Darcy’s gift is.”

  “Perhaps it awaits alongside mine, in the drawing room” suggested the eldest, as Lizzy gathered up Lydia’s gift, and Georgiana helped by carrying the bandbox and the riding hat.

  Lydia too upped from her seat a little less agile. “I swear I’ve eaten too much, and shall rue my eyes tempted by cook’s fare.”

  And so they all departed the dining room.

  Fifteen

  ~

  Quite expecting a picture, for the shape of the gift was very definitely that of a framed item, the removal of wrapping paper revealed a depiction of Longbourn embroidered with silks. Thus memories of childhood samplers leapt to mind, their early efforts nothing in comparison to that now held in hands. “Oh Jane, it is lovely, so very lovely.”

  Jane’s smile bespoke the joy of gifting an item she knew would be a treasured possession. “Both Kitty, Mary, and mother put thread to needle and contributed to the whole, so it is essentially from all of us. Though
as you will see, there is a gift from mother and father, and another from Bingley and I.”

  “Let me see, let me see, because you have several more gifts to unwrap,” begged Lydia from her seat beside Jane. “I can’t believe Mary put down a book long enough to pick up a needle, let alone set to with embroidery.”

  “When did you last pick up a needle,” challenged Jane. “Besides, the roses are Mary’s effort, and you cannot deny, it is intricate work with all the leaves as well.”

  In passing the framed embroidery to Lydia’s hands, her younger sister fell to tears in study of its prominence in their previous life. “Oh dear, how silly of me. After all, it’s only a house.”

  “A house where we born, where we grew up,” said Jane, in wrapping her arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “It is and always will be a part of us.”

  “Yes, I know, but when hateful Mr. Collins gets his toadying hands on it, we shall mourn its passing.”

  “Charlotte is a dear friend of mine, despite her husband, and will always remain a friend no matter what.”

  Lydia grimaced. “Oh Lizzy, you cannot truly wish to witness the pair of them ensconced at Longbourn, surely not?”

  “It cannot be otherwise.”

  “It might if he were to have an unfortunate accident and perish.”

  “Lydia, that is a dreadful notion,” declared Jane. “Besides, Charlotte may give birth to a boy in the meanwhile. Thus a son of Mr. Collins would then inherit Longbourn.”

  “Is she with child, then?”

  “It seems not in his last letter to father,” replied Jane, “though Mr. Collins is ever hopeful.”

  Lydia fell to a bout of the giggles. “Perhaps he is not as well versed in matters of marital pleasures as he is with writing sermons.”

  Intent on hopeful distraction of Jane and Bingley’s gift, which was indeed a glove box, she exclaimed on raising the lid: “Oh my, they’re teal coloured gauntlets.”

  Jane laughed. “They’re ladies driving gauntlets, and that’s why I encouraged you to order a pair of ankle driving boots in teal from the cobbler. You will find them very useful for driving out in the curricle.”