A Wife for Mr. Darcy

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  After looking in the mirror, Darcy pulled on his waistcoat and straightened his neckcloth, and upon achieving the desired effect, he asked Mercer his opinion.

  “Very handsome, sir. I believe the blue coat is your second favorite.”

  After five years of service, Darcy had great affection and respect for his valet. His loyalty was admirable and endearing, and because of this, his master often took his servant into his confidence.

  “I know that statement has a double meaning, Mercer, but I have decided that since I must do this, I shall do it properly and with dignity. Miss Montford is entitled to a proper courtship, and so I shall begin one in earnest.”

  “If I may speak, sir?”

  “No, you may not. I have looked at this matter every which way from Sunday, but once I learned that her father was talking me up as her suitor at his club, I knew there was no escape. Besides, she is pleasant company, attractive, accomplished, and two of her sisters have five sons between them, and I must have an heir.” Following a long pause, he continued, “Mercer, please hail a hackney.” After taking one last look in the mirror, he added, “And so it begins.”

  Miss Montford looked pretty in pink. It was her best color, greatly complementing her fair complexion, blue eyes, and blond hair, and Darcy expressed his admiration for her new dress. After making sure her coiffure was new, with the curling about the face that Georgiana had described, he mentioned that as well, and after a series of such compliments, he saw it: a full smile. And she had all her teeth! Not always a given, so that was a relief.

  “I see you have made some new sketches, Miss Montford.” He assumed they were new, but since there were so many of them throughout the house, perhaps they had just been moved from another location. “You seem to favor St. Paul’s. It is Wren’s finest creation, so I certainly understand. I must say that your artwork is every bit as good as the artists who sell their prints in front of the cathedral.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Papa buys the visitor’s cards from the sellers for me, and I copy them in ink, charcoal, and watercolors.”

  “You copy them? I had not thought. Maybe you should open your own stall,” Darcy said in jest, and Miss Montford responded with her half smile. So this is how it would be. Compliments merited full smiles, while jokes earned only half smiles. He would make a note of it. “You are so busy with all of your sketches, painting tables and screens, and embroidery, I wonder you have any time to read.”

  “I read but little, sir, as there is nothing to show for it.”

  At first Darcy thought she was joking, but then he took her meaning.

  “It is true that there is nothing tangible produced, nothing to hang on the walls or drape over a chair, but ideas are real things. You only have to look at America, a new nation built on a foundation of ideas. Granted, they can be misused, as is the case with French revolutionaries, but they have their own power.”

  Miss Montford nodded. “And how is Miss Darcy?”

  So much for the power of ideas. He imagined with a father as hidebound to convention as Sir John Montford was, having “ideas” might be viewed as being dangerous, and unlike the Darcy dinner table, such things were definitely not discussed.

  “She is very well and at Pemberley visiting with friends.”

  “Miss Smythe?”

  “No, actually new friends. If you recall, Charles Bingley is to marry Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn Manor in Hertfordshire. Georgiana’s guests are Miss Bennet’s sister, Elizabeth, and her aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. I found their company to be most agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner spent some of her youth in nearby Lambton, and Mr. Gardiner is an avid angler and eager to cast his line in Pemberley’s streams.”

  “Are the Gardiners friends with the Bingleys?” she asked with that tilt of the head that made her look as if her head was weighted to the left.

  “No. The Gardiners only know Charles Bingley through the Bennets. Mr. Gardiner lives on Gracechurch Street here in town.”

  “And who is Mr. Gardiner?”

  “Who is he? Do you mean what does he do?”

  The puzzled expression returned. “I do not understand that question, Mr. Darcy. What do you mean by ‘what does he do?’”

  “Are you asking how Mr. Gardiner earns his living?”

  “Oh, he earns his living,” she said, clearly unhappy with the answer.

  Despite Colonel Fitzwilliam’s claim that the integration of the wealthy merchant class with England’s upper class was well under way, not everyone had heard the news. In Sir John Montford’s world, merchants were “tainted by trade.” If you did not inherit your wealth, you were beneath his notice—and, apparently, in his daughter’s world as well.

  “Mr. Gardiner is a coffee broker.”

  Miss Montford shrugged her shoulders, clearly not knowing what a coffee broker was or did.

  “Have you ever thought about the tea you drink every day, Miss Montford? It comes from faraway lands, China, India, Ceylon, on ships with towering masts and billowing sails, hugging the coast of Africa, and following the outline of the Iberian Peninsula before veering out to sea with its destination of Bristol or London. After the ship arrives in port, the brokers go down to the docks and bid on its cargo. In turn, the brokers sell their commodities to the merchants, who sell it to your housekeeper. It is amazing to me the things we take for granted as part of our everyday lives come to us from such great distances, including our coffee and tea.”

  “That sounds very exciting. I have never given any thought to where my tea comes from, but I think I shall in the future.”

  With that slight encouragement, Darcy recalled stories told to him by his father and governess as well as the journals and accounts of the great explorers he had read while at Eton.

  “Those who faced the dangers of the open seas have been a subject that has always fascinated me. As a boy, I sailed with Captain Cook on his voyages of discovery to the South Seas and intercepted ships from the New World laden with silver and gold bound for Spain with Sir Francis Drake.” After a short pause, he added, “I am speaking figuratively, of course.” Surely, she knew that. Cook had died a few years before his birth, and Drake had sailed for the great Elizabeth, Regina Gloriana, in the sixteenth century.

  And then the silence he so dreaded returned as Miss Montford did not know how to respond to his childhood imaginings. After a few minutes, Darcy fell back on the old reliable: the weather.

  “Georgiana writes that the autumn colors at Pemberley are still quite beautiful. I think this may be the first autumn I have ever missed in Derbyshire.”

  “Why did you not go with your sister?”

  “Because there are people I wished to see in London.” Like you, my dear. That is why I am here. “This will be the first time my sister has acted as the mistress of Pemberley, but it is a small party and manageable for her first effort.”

  “I imagine you wish you were in Derbyshire since London is rather dull at this time of year.”

  “Yes, very dull.”

  “Since your sister is alone and you wish to be in the country, maybe you should go to Pemberley.”

  “Miss Montford, my sister is not alone. And I have been gone from London quite a bit of late, as you may have noticed, and I feel I may have neglected some of my… friends.”

  “But, Mr. Darcy, you should not neglect your sister on anyone’s account. Papa would never permit me go to the country without a male relation.”

  Neglect? Darcy wanted to laugh. This was absurd. Georgiana was in the company of a mature young woman and her middle-aged aunt and uncle and in the midst of an army of servants. His staff could have fended off a French raid.

  “I have always encouraged Georgiana’s independence,” Darcy explained, and then he heard a gasp from Miss Montford. With a harsher tone than he had intended, he said, “You should not be uneasy on my sister’s account. There is always someone about,” and then he saw an opening. “But if it would make you feel better if I went to Derbyshire, I w
ould consider it. However, I am perfectly agreeable to staying in town if that is what you would wish.”

  “I can only say what my father would do, and he would go to Derbyshire to be with me.”

  After another fifteen minutes of weather-related discussions—Letitia was predicting cooler temperatures with some rain and snow sometime during the winter season—Darcy took his leave. When he emerged from the Montford house, a hackney pulled over, but he waved him off. He needed to walk and to think. He had finally taken the first step in beginning a courtship with Miss Montford, and after paying her what was for him an excessive amount of compliments, she had encouraged him to leave town, which he was willing to do. There was only one problem. He could not go to Pemberley.

  When Darcy returned home, it was to an empty house. Richard was dining at his club and would most certainly play cards, and he had given Mercer the evening off. He suspected that his valet was having a romance with a cook in one of the adjacent townhouses. Mercer, a man of forty-seven years, had never married and had once told him that he had a female acquaintance at many of the coaching inns where the post coach made its stops, but rather than limiting himself to any one lady, he had chosen to remain a bachelor. “Share the wealth, sir,” he had said with a smile.

  But a letter from Georgiana was waiting for him in which she related her company’s first full day at Pemberley. With Mr. Gardiner fishing and Mrs. Gardiner visiting an old friend in the village, Georgiana had convinced Elizabeth to go riding.

  Since it had been such a long time since Lizzy has been on a horse (she much prefers walking)…

  Lizzy? Of course, Georgiana would call her Lizzy; they were friends. As far as her preference for walking was concerned, Darcy knew from their time together at Netherfield during her sister’s convalescence that Elizabeth was very fond of walking. He remembered a most pleasant stroll in the park, and by the time they had returned to the house, he was in love with her.

  …she felt the need to ride Sugar in the yard. But our dappled gray had her own ideas and went right back into the stables. Lizzy was laughing so hard that she could not get Sugar to respond, and in no time at all, they were back at Sugar’s stall. You should have seen the look on Belling’s face, and then, without any irony, he said, “Are you done for the day, Miss?” and we could hardly contain ourselves. It had taken Belling longer to saddle Sugar than Lizzy had been on her.

  After tucking the note into his pocket, Darcy had been on the point of retiring when Richard came home. “Tonight was not my night for cards. I am a poor man, and so I know when to leave the tables, especially when I am losing to my brother.” After pouring himself a brandy and another for his cousin, Richard asked Darcy how his visit with Miss Montford had gone.

  After Darcy explained the interesting turn of events, Richard said, “Darcy, you are a lucky devil. Miss Montford actually gave you her permission to go to Pemberley.”

  “I can’t go to Pemberley, but if I am supposed to be in Derbyshire, then I can’t stay in town either. I shall write to Anne to tell her that I wish to visit. There is no hardship there, except, of course, listening to Aunt Catherine’s complaints.”

  “Darcy, what are you talking about? You must go to Pemberley.”

  “Out of the question,” he said, shaking his head. “I will not even consider it, and if you want to know why, I shall tell you. After our discussion the other night in which we decided that Miss Elizabeth had not been injured, I came to a different conclusion. She may not have had expectations of a marriage proposal, but flirtations are hopeful things, full of promise, and I cannot believe that at some time in all those weeks that she had not looked for a different outcome.”

  “If that is what you truly believe, then you really must go to Pemberley. If her hopes have truly been elevated, then they should be brought down in increments, not in one deafening crash when you attend the wedding of her sister to Charles Bingley with your betrothed. My suggestion would be for you to go to Derbyshire and let her know that you wish to remain friends.”

  Darcy sat back in his chair and looked at the brandy-filled glass as the candlelight passed through it, the crystal providing clarity as to the wine’s color and texture and to his thoughts as well.

  “I have no one to blame for the situation I find myself in but me. I had this list in my head of what was required of a prospective bride for Fitzwilliam Darcy, and with Miss Montford, I was able to check off many of the items on the list: attractive, accomplished, good dancer, pleasant personality, an agreeable companion for Georgiana, granddaughter of an earl, and someone who moved in the highest tiers of London society. Through a process of elimination, I decided that she was the one I would marry, so that I might have a son and heir.

  “Richard, if it were not so damn depressing I could almost laugh. Logical, careful, and methodical Fitzwilliam Darcy, who does everything by the numbers so that nothing is overlooked and plans are made for every contingency, messed up badly. The one thing I failed to factor in to all this courtship business was that I would fall in love with someone else.”

  As soon as Mr. Darcy departed, Miss Montford went to the window to make sure that he was truly gone. When she saw him wave off the hackney, she was afraid he might return. But with her nose pressed to the pane, she watched as he continued walking in the direction of his house, and she let out a sigh of relief. With tears in her eyes, she went to the small sitting room adjacent to the parlor where Mrs. Redford, her companion and chaperone, sat during her visits with Mr. Darcy. This was not a secret because the rocking of Mrs. Redford’s chair and the clicking of her knitting needles provided a rhythmic background to all their conversations.

  Mrs. Redford, who had taken the place of Letitia’s mother when Lady Margaret had died when the child was eight, came over and gave her a hug, and she clung to her companion in absolute misery. Letitia took out an embroidered handkerchief from a drawer stuffed full of them.

  “It had such a promising beginning, but now…” After dabbing everything that was wet, she explained what had gone wrong. “When Papa introduced me to Mr. Darcy, I could hardly believe he was interested in me at all, but I was flattered by his attention. At first, we talked about all those things that one is supposed to talk about in a ballroom: dancing, the number of couples, the weather, plays at Haymarket, and the opera. But then things started to change. I noticed he became impatient when I talked about the weather. Then at the public ball at Merritt’s, he introduced me to Charles Bingley, and Mr. Bingley asked me to dance. What could I say? He is a friend of Mr. Darcy’s, and although he is most agreeable company, he is not a gentleman. And then he asked if I knew Mr. Bingley’s sisters. How would I know them? We have no friends in common.

  “Tonight was the worst of all. He spoke of subjects that are of no interest to me. I do not care where my tea comes from. I know little of the exploits of the explorers, and Papa absolutely forbids any discussion about America because they overthrew their lawful king. Yet Mr. Darcy admires them, and I know that Papa would find that most objectionable. And he has befriended a coffee broker person, and this man, Mr. Gardiner, and his wife are now at Pemberley with their niece, who is sister to Mr. Bingley’s betrothed. He is forming a circle of friends with people not of my station. Am I to be expected to entertain them in our home? To visit them at their estates and in their homes?

  “But the very worst was when he said he had always encouraged his sister to be independent and told me that she has gone to Pemberley with people new to her acquaintance and without a male relation. Will Mr. Darcy expect me to be independent? Will he put me in a carriage and send me off on my own?

  “Mr. Jasper Wiggins is not like him at all,” Letitia continued to complain through her sniffles. “He loves talking about the weather and is excellent at guessing the number of couples in a ballroom. Mr. Wiggins was acceptable to Papa as a suitable marriage partner for me because he comes from a prominent banking family, and his father is to be knighted. But once Mr. Darcy came to the house, Mr
. Wiggins was pushed aside, and now Papa will make me marry Mr. Darcy.” She then burst into tears. “And he is such a big man.”

  Mrs. Redford continued to listen to Letitia’s complaints through bouts of sobbing, but she had already heard enough. The facts of the matter were that Mr. Darcy did not love Letitia, and Letitia was a nervous wreck around Mr. Darcy. It was obvious to Mrs. Redford that both individuals wanted to get out of the relationship. The obstacle was Sir John, who was determined to have Mr. Darcy as a son-in-law, and she knew why. If Letitia were to marry into one of the oldest families in the realm that would be a real feather in Sir John’s cap. Connections—this was all about connections.

  Sir John, who had spent most of the last two months in the country shooting, believed that all was well in London. He had no idea how distressed his youngest daughter was. But Mrs. Redford understood her employer and knew well his weaknesses. He was a vain, self-important man, and, hopefully, his vanity and snobbery would be Letitia’s way out and, for that matter, Mr. Darcy’s as well.

  Mrs. Redford was not alone in her scheming. Colonel Fitzwilliam was enjoying his time away from his regiment and his commanding officer, a total incompetent, whose only rival was the Prince of Wales. The prince had come to Kent to review the troops, and with every inch of his tailored uniform decorated with unearned military honors, he had looked like a bejeweled stuffed sausage. It was at that moment that Richard had thought about selling his commission. But for the time being, his own affairs had to be put aside because his cousin was in danger of making a disastrous mistake, and because he had to move quickly, his military training would serve him well.

  Richard’s plan was unconventional and involved enlisting the support of his brother, Antony, Lord Fitzwilliam. Antony had married Eleanor Henley, the daughter of the 2nd Earl Henley, and with the exception of his two lovely daughters, the marriage had been a disaster. The misery of his marriage had set him on a course of reckless spending, excessive drinking, and gaming, as well as bedding half the married women in London society, resulting in more than one close call with a husband.