They had arrived in good stead, but their journey had been lengthy, dirty, and tiring. Yet when they first arrived and their trunks were only just being unfastened, they could smell the enticement of the sea air. On a whim, each took a baby in their arms and strolled in the direction of the shore. At a word from Mr. Darcy, Goodwin began directing their retinue of servitors to unburden their carriage of three months worth of trunks, boxes, and cases. As the Darcys strode off, they heard Hannah wrangling with Goodwin over whose trunks would be the first to be taken down. It was an odd comfort. Rather than being irksome, the interminable squabbling was a reminder of home. It was but a short stroll to the esplanade, but so healthy the size of their children, by the time they gained the sea-walk, Elizabeth had tired.
The rush of the surf, the burst of sea air, and the sound of the gulls squawking overhead instantly invigorated them both. They silently shared the recognition that their visit would be a rejuvenation not only of their vigour, but of their spirits as well. That night, the combination of the fatigue of the road and the salt air had Elizabeth sleeping more soundly than she had in some time. Indeed, by the time they arose, their morning tour had become one of the afternoon. Having been in Brighton for a week, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana were impatient of them, however. Fitzwilliam grumbled because it was expected of him. But in actuality their late start was not injury enough to ruin their anticipation. Indeed, it only whetted it.
“What shall be first on our agenda, Darcy? Shall we observe the vistas or the architecture?” he inquired. “Or shall we just meander?”
Such was his past experience when travelling with Darcy, Fitzwilliam knew full well that nothing less than a well-ordered undertaking would be tolerated. Indeed, Darcy ignored what he saw to be a good-natured, if deliberate, gibe against his meticulous nature. Had he wanted to counter it, it was too late. He had already issued detailed instructions to his driver to turn to the outskirts of town towards Devil’s Dyke. His design was for them first to observe the periphery of Brighton and from thence to hie the town’s centre. They must see the panorama from above if they were fully to appreciate it. Other than identifying their first destination, he did not explain his design. Rather, he wanted it to appear as if it had been left to chance. With a knowing smile, Fitzwilliam said no more. Rather he sat back with the others to enjoy their sight-seeing.
“Pray, do you recall when first you and I came to Brighton?” Fitzwilliam said to Darcy. “Mere boys we were.”
“Indeed,” replied Darcy. To Elizabeth he explained, “It was the year after I left Cambridge. We stopt here before making for London, and from thence we departed upon our tour of the Continent.”
Elizabeth and Georgiana smiled at each other at their husbands’ remembrances. They had spent many an evening hearing them relate tales of their travels—at least the ruins visited and the scenery admired. Either nothing of a romantic or adventurous nature occurred on that year-long pilgrimage, or both gentlemen were far too circumspect to talk of it.
Fitzwilliam, still recollecting that long-past Brighton visit, said, “When last we were here, Brighton was still just a small fishing village—but one in a state of alteration.”
All nodded knowingly, for that was just after the Prince Regent discovered Brighton’s charms and begun to build his pavilion, thus besetting upon the quiet village the nation’s most fashionable society. Their attention was then arrested by the sight of a smattering of tents upon the far down. With a scholarly tone quite new to him, Darcy explained to the ladies that prior to the end of hostilities, Brighton had been the most vulnerable of seaside towns. It was the port most expeditious to France and the shortest overland route to London. Pointing them out with his stick, he added that the downs had once been thick with tents that stretched forth in long narrow rows and served as the temporary encampments of militia.
With that last word, Darcy quit his commentary. This cessation was abrupt. So abrupt was it, it did the very thing he had sought not to do—it reminded Elizabeth that Brighton was where Lydia and Wickham were first thrown together. Darcy believed the memory of her sister’s near ruin grieved Elizabeth to the same degree that the name of Ramsgate lived in infamy within him. The similarity lay only in the odd fact that both seductions involved the same cad. Other than that, their outcomes were very different—Wickham was thwarted from eloping with Georgiana and he was gently forced into marriage with Lydia. Elizabeth’s contempt for Wickham was considerable, but she was long past fretting over what had come to pass. Hence, the disconcertion Darcy felt on her behalf was misplaced. It was his alone. He could not bear to think of Wickham at all. Indeed, he allowed that memory to cast a pallor over his mood—one that he did not expect to lift with any haste.
In his obvious discomfiture for having broached the subject, Elizabeth took his arm. She was certain that whatever ill will she still endured over that entire escapade paled in comparison with his. For any mention or thought of Wickham grieved him still. Ubiquitous as Wickham had been, there were very few places they could escape his memory altogether. She patted Darcy’s arm with kindly meant reassurance.
“Let us not think of the past,” was her wise counsel.
It was wise, but she knew how far was the chasm between doing and not.
Darcy chose simply to alter the subject of the conversation and addressed Fitzwilliam, seated across, “What say you, Fitzwilliam, to the Prince of Wales’s invitation?”
Upon hearing this, Elizabeth’s mood brightened. Fitzwilliam had already been weighted down with medals for service to his country, but she had only just learnt of his invitation to join the prince’s favourite regiment, the 10th Light Dragoons. The unspoken question was not so much if he found favour with such an honour, but whether Fitzwilliam would ever be fit enough to join such a regiment.
“My military service is compleat,” said he quite solemnly.
Although it was clear to his other listeners that his conclusion was a melancholy one, Georgiana appeared relieved.
“He has given enough in service of the Crown, I should think,” said she.
Still, Fitzwilliam’s countenance just then was not a happy one. It was difficult for Elizabeth to witness his dispirit, hence she could but imagine how Darcy must suffer for him. She took her husband’s hand. Synchronously, but more in mercy of their own discomfort than Fitzwilliam’s, they both looked away, Darcy to the left, she to the right. Hence they did not observe Georgiana’s own form of comfort—she turned so as to allow her flowering belly to rest against her husband’s side. Elizabeth glanced back and caught sight of this unspoken comfort as it bid a small smile tempt the corners of his mouth. It was not something she thought that she would disclose to Darcy. It was far too intimate an exchange.
They had no sooner returned from their tour than their party was improved by the Gardiners, who, having been secluded with Lydia for the whole of the winter had lately arrived from London. Indeed, they had accepted Elizabeth’s invitation to join them at Brighton without discussion and in no little haste to enjoy the relaxation the sea air could provide. Verily, they were anxious to the point of being ready to flee to the sanctuary of any abode uninhabited by their youngest niece. This state of disturbance upon their part was painfully obvious and, as she was the agent of that particular affliction, Elizabeth felt exceedingly guilt-ridden. She was, therefore, even more inclined to do whatever she could to make it up to them (lest someday someone repay the compliment).
It was not as if they were taken unawares by Lydia’s own special form of conceit, for they were not altogether surprised. Lydia had resided in their home during the days it took for Darcy to barter and coerce Wickham into taking her hand in holy wedlock. Although Mrs. Gardiner had no kind remarks for her behaviour then, she soon understood that Lydia in want of a wedding was not half so ill-mannered as Lydia in want of everything. Although she had come to them in all-appreciative obligation, her ingratitude expanded with the same
rapidity as her waistline. Elizabeth and Jane had intended her stay to be temporary, but kind Mrs. Gardiner insisted upon standing by her through her term. Yet by the time Lydia delivered her first daughter, she had availed herself of every kind of rant and demand. Had Mrs. Gardiner been of less hardy stock, she might have taken to her own bed.
With the Gardiners came the first Elizabeth had learnt of Lydia’s successful parturition, and they related to her the single celebratory aspect of Lydia’s confinement. On her fourth attempt, Lydia had finally produced a child worthy of her attention—one cast in her own image. She at last had a daughter—a baby she could swath in pink ribbons and frilly lace to her heart’s content. (The little attention Wickham gave his sons was to insist that they be encrusted with those accoutrements particular to the masculine sex as soon as they left the breast.) As there was nothing Lydia liked better than her own contented heart, she was momentarily most inordinately pleased. Regrettably, the poor child had lost her novelty within the month and Lydia turned her notice to a more lucrative project.
Much to the Gardiners’ dismay, she embarked upon a mission to interview the specific suitor she had deemed father to her child. As their number may not have been legion, it was large enough to engender a project intricate in contemplation and manipulation. It also involved wiles unworthy of the most unprincipled of women. The Gardiners were a little less inclined to subject their children to Lydia’s machinations than they were to witnessing it for themselves. They left Lydia to their home, Cheapside, and the whole of London with which to have her way, only taking time to bundle into their trunks whatever clothing was handy before taking leave. It was with a deplorably mismatched ensemble that Mrs. Gardiner apprised Elizabeth of the specifics of her sister’s latest roguery.
“Bless me, Elizabeth! Mr. Gardiner and I did what we could, but she was in no greater means of listening to reason than she was lo those many years ago…”
Leaving Lydia to her own devices was the single incautious decision that good couple had ever made. Yet in the end, no one, least of all Elizabeth, would have quibbled with the necessity of divesting themselves of Lydia’s daily fits and indecorous behaviour. So great was her own culpability in subjecting them to Lydia in the first place, Elizabeth patted her aunt’s hand and shook her head in consolation (doing so without actually “tsking” aloud with only the greatest of discipline). Simultaneously to her commiseration, Elizabeth was hastily apprising and discarding what next to do with Lydia. She veritably scratched her head with perplexity, for now that nunneries were obsolete, she truly had little notion which way to turn. That unprofitable employment she gave up in favour of one more to her liking.
All Lydia’s schemes and deception might have taken their toll on dear Mrs. Gardiner’s spirits. Hence, Elizabeth inveigled her to take a turn round the shingles that lined the waterfront with her and Darcy. Since Darcy’s rescue of Lydia’s honour and insistence on bearing the burden of the remuneration Wickham required, the Gardiners held few in higher esteem than him. Aware of her discomposure (but not necessarily its origin), Darcy offered Mrs. Gardiner his arm. The fondness and admiration she held for her niece’s excellent husband sent Mrs. Gardiner into a bit of a flutter. Elizabeth and Mr. Gardiner exchanged amused expressions as she took his arm in turn. Thereupon the two mismatched couples led the entire party out that day upon a stroll. Such walks became a daily pleasure—each one a new adventure.
Upon one such walk Darcy inquired which direction they favoured their path to take. The sight that the Gardiners were most in want of viewing that day was the Brighton Pavilion, for it was still in the throes of the Prince Regent’s ever-altering design. Regrettably, when their walk allowed them at last to gaze upon its opulence, they stood for the whole of ten minutes before they realized how little amused they were by its general gaudiness. But it was there that Mr. Gardiner espied a curiously built ramp that, word had it, was fitted particularly for the prince.
Mr. Gardiner was not one whose bent was much to gossip, but as a man in trade he could not help being privy to idle talk. It was quite seldom, however, that he had opportunity to observe firsthand the mad doings of royalty; hence upon this occasion he was a keen observer. As a gentleman, he believed it only courteous to share what intelligence he carried with his companions. Whilst Darcy pretended disinterest, Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner wanted to hear it all.
“See there,” he said, “that must be it! It is a chair on rollers!”
Indeed it was—a chair constructed specifically to aid the increasingly adipose prince in mounting his beleaguered steed. They eyed the bizarre contraption most particularly, but it appeared to have been abandoned. That gave credibility to further gossip that, to his misfortune, the prince had become so obscenely obese the chair had been rendered unusable. Mr. Gardiner had great interest in machines of all sorts, thus, its obsolescence did not lessen his enjoyment in seeing it at firsthand. He and Mrs. Gardiner marvelled upon it for some time. By then Darcy feared they might be taken for common sightseers if they lingered, and he retrieved Elizabeth’s arm. In good time, the Gardiners and their frolicsome children fell in behind, and Elizabeth and Darcy, arm in arm, strolled behind Margaret as she pushed the babies a little ahead of them in their carriage. They led their entire party on the walkway tracing the edge of the waterfront. As new lovers often do, Georgiana and Fitzwilliam trailed them all, seemingly lost in their own conversation.
Pointing down the beach, Darcy drew their attention to the unwieldy bathing machines being cranked out to the surf, allowing flannel-clad bathers to cautiously dip their toes and gauge the temperature of the water. Seagulls dived and children shrieked and Geoff and Janie sat in wide-eyed wonder at the sights. So much did the twins attract admiration from passers-by that Elizabeth remarked that they might do well to put them up in a booth for a penny a look. As the Gardiners stopt and took notice of the bathers, Darcy could not resist calling out.
“Mrs. Gardiner, pray, shall you take a swim?” Darcy teased.
She blushed. “I think not. Perhaps just an ablution of sea water.”
“I’m told it should not be taken without a mixture of crab’s eyes and wood lice. I understand milk may be added to make it more palatable,” Darcy said with unexpected drollness.
Everyone laughed. Elizabeth remarked that they lacked only the Bingleys to make their holiday compleat. Regrettably, they had yet to arrive. For such was the size of the Bingleys’ brood and the laxity of their resolve, they always arrived a fortnight behind everyone else. Still, Elizabeth was pleased to hear her husband in such uncommonly tranquil humour. She almost said as much, but her attention was taken by a voice calling out. It was a voice that was so familiar that she stood motionless, attempting both to locate and place it. When she did, her reaction was visceral. She cringed both figuratively and literally in recognition.
“I say, nephew!” trilled Lady Catherine de Bourgh. “Too-roo! Nephew!”
At this their entire party, almost as one entity, stopt in its tracks. But only Darcy turned to Lady Catherine as she approached. Elizabeth found it necessary to rearrange the blankets around her children. So busy was she, she was quite unable to take notice of anything else. Her own ploy, however, was unsuccessful. For much to Elizabeth’s astonishment, Lady Catherine hurried towards her. Elizabeth turned to face her—arms folded. In defence of her children, she was quite ready to do battle. That proved to be quite unnecessary.
For as it happened, Lady Catherine (or the amiable spirit which had taken over her body) was quite happy to see them all. They knew this to be true because she briefly stopt her advance to extend greetings and good-day to all—several times—with great emotion. As Darcy insinuated himself between Lady Catherine and his family (whether to protect them or keep his wife from doing her damage, one can only conjecture), all the others in their little band stood still as stones. Mrs. Gardiner, having heard a great deal of Lady Catherine’s numerous ill-deeds, stood with h
er mouth slightly agape.
Said Lady Catherine, “My dearest nephew! Dearest Elizabeth! Do we have the good fortune to admire your new family?”
Lady Catherine inquiring after her children was more alarming to Elizabeth than anything else she could imagine and she was loath to allow it. Nonetheless, Lady Catherine endeavoured mightily to look over and around her nephew at the small charges in the baby carriage. Elizabeth truly wondered if it were a ruse to get near her children and do them harm. Possibly of the same mind, Darcy stood his ground, walking-stick held lightly in his hand (seemingly at the ready) as his aunt approached. He tipped his hat ever so slightly but said nothing. In the absence of an invitation to do so, Lady Catherine sashayed around him and over to the carriage. She then bent low to peer in at the babies. It was all Elizabeth could do not to throw herself across them in their defence.
After a scrutiny that bordered on the untoward, she announced, “Handsome children, are they not!”
It was only then that it became apparent that Lady Catherine was not alone. Although the Gardiners had never met her and Elizabeth had seen her but little and could be forgiven, Darcy should have recognised Lady Anne. She certainly had recognised him. She commenced a simpering, eye-batting giggle—from whence she quickly retreated behind her fan. It was a display worthy of Lydia at her most inane and Elizabeth had to make herself not look over-long at her. Such as it was, it managed the considerable feat of stealing Elizabeth’s attention from Lady Catherine. When it returned, it was only with the severest self-discipline that she kept from wheeling away the carriage and making for the nearest shop for sanctuary.
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