Mr. Darcy's Great Escape

by Marsha Altman

  Charles Bingley, six years old and easily intimidated by his older sister, said only meekly, “He wouldn’t.”

  “He would. Now go.”

  He ran off, his bare feet making very little sound on the wood, up the stairs and into their nursery. Georgie sighed in relief.

  “He wouldn’t, would he?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Of course not. Maybe your papa, but not mine,” she said very confidently.

  “Why do you want to know about war?”

  “You do not?”

  Geoffrey shrugged. “I don’t know what war is like. But my uncle is on the Continent.”

  “So is mine.”

  “But yours is batty.”

  “At least he’s not a monk!”

  “You don’t even know what that is!”

  “Do too!”

  “Do not!”

  “Lying is a sin, you know.”

  “So is staying up past your bedtimes.”

  They turned away from the door and looked up at the figure towering above them, wizened and leaning heavily on his walking stick, not like their fathers did when out of doors, but like he really needed it.

  “Grandpapa!”

  “Grandfather!”

  “Now hush or you’re likely to give yourselves away to more than one person,” Mr. Bennet said. “But I’d think you’d best be off to bed, children. If you’ve forgotten the way, I will show you. In fact, I insist upon it.”

  Admittedly, they were much better at scurrying up the stairs of Netherfield than he was and had to wait for him at the top before proceeding down the hallway. Georgie took his available hand. “I thought you were at home.”

  “And miss time with my grandchildren, who are undoubtedly going to be sneaking out to hear what their parents say behind closed doors? Never!” he laughed. “I take my amusements in this life where I can get them, Miss Bingley. You ought to learn to do the same, though perhaps not by eavesdropping. You might get a story that’s not for your young ears.” He paused. “Oh, dear, I’ve just made it all the more enticing. Well, my daughters and sons will just have to suffer.”

  “Will England go to war?” Geoffrey asked more seriously, looking up at his grandfather.

  “I am not a diviner of any sorts, Master Geoffrey, so I cannot begin to tell you the future. In fact, I find it is best to let it rest and expect only that life is going to surprise you, as it—in my lifetime, certainly—has never failed to do.”

  Chapter 2

  Lady Catherine’s Epistle

  May was a most enjoyable time at Pemberley, in those intervening years between the master’s bachelorhood and his children being out, when he had every reason to be at home for the upcoming Season. It was also special for the Darcys because it was the time that Grégoire made the long journey from Austria to visit them. Georgiana came up from Town, for she had taken to her newfound brother and spent much time walking with him in the gardens.

  “He seems to be doing well,” Elizabeth said as they watched from their balcony. “I think the Rule of Benedict is much more suited to him.”

  “I suppose not insisting he drive himself to death is a vast improvement,” Darcy said, not looking up from his book. “Maybe we can find him monastery after monastery until we find one that teaches its novices how to be normal men.”

  “Maybe your brotherly concerns are enough torture for him,” she said.

  ***

  “And when do you intend to tell Darcy?”

  “Oh! It is nothing like that, I assure you,” Georgiana said. “I’ve seen him but twice—and only by chance. And of course I can’t invite him and he can’t invite me, even if he is an earl—”

  “If marriage is the intention of courtship, I confess to not understanding why it must be so complicated,” Grégoire said. “How are you to see him again?”

  “Well… I have asked Dr. Maddox to invite him for dinner, because he is so discreet, and Mrs. Maddox will delight in having a secret from my brother. Oh! Is it wicked of me to say that?”

  “I don’t believe so,” he said with a smile. “But you will have to eventually tell him.”

  “I told you, it is nothing! He is just an old friend who’s never been to Town! He doesn’t know his way around.”

  Grégoire just buried his smile in his cowl.

  She gave him a little shove. “Promise you will not tell!”

  “I will not.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  ***

  “Darcy,” Elizabeth said as she stepped onto the veranda, where Darcy was enjoying the afternoon breeze with his brother, who was holding Sarah with great delight. Grégoire had no scruples with showing his affection for his nieces and nephew as most men did. “You will never believe this.”

  Darcy turned to Grégoire and said, “I will not bother to guess. It will take all day. Darling, what is it?”

  “Lady Catherine has finally replied to one of my letters,” she said, holding it up in evidence. “In fact, she has invited us to Kent.”

  “Did she give a reason?”

  “No. She spent most of the letter berating me, my motherhood, which she is sure is deficient, and so on and so on,” she waved her hand as she passed off the letter. “And of course, the only reason we are available is because you are a terrible guardian of Georgiana and will not join her for the Season so that she can be properly married and settled. But since we are so negligent and therefore available, we must come.”

  “We must,” he said with some amusement and explained to Grégoire, “My mother’s sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She was insistent that I marry her daughter, Anne, and when I refused and married Elizabeth, she cut off all contact.”

  “But—Anne is your cousin, is she not?” Grégoire said.

  “Yes. Oh, is there some Catholic injunction against marrying cousins? Is it improper in the eyes of God? Because if so, we must bring that up while we are there, if we should go at all.”

  “If we are to go!” Elizabeth said. “I’ve only been writing to this woman for eight years for the sake of family harmony, and you consider rejecting her offer?”

  “She has thrown us a bone, but that does not mean I am a hungry dog,” Darcy said, his tone more serious. “While she is my aunt, her behavior was abominable towards both of us during our courtship, and we are likely to be subjected to yet another tirade if we go.”

  “Perhaps she has changed.”

  “But her letter indicates she has not, at least not enough. I have only so much tolerance for one who would insult my lovely wife, and if she so much as says one bad word in front of Geoffrey and Anne—”

  Elizabeth turned to her brother-in-law for help. “Surely it is some kind of sin to pre-suppose evil?”

  “Yes, but there is also the matter of marrying cousins, though the Bible does not forbid it, various papal bulls—” Grégoire shook his head. “It is not my place. I do not know this woman.”

  “If it is any more enticing,” Elizabeth added, “the Fitzwilliams will also be there, and you know how little we see our cousins since they moved to Brighton.”

  “A regular family gathering,” Darcy said. “Now I am even more suspicious. But we cannot go—for the sake of family. My brother has come all the way from the Continent to see me, and I will not leave him to go be lectured by Lady Catherine. Nor would I bring him along and subject him to the highly improper tirade we will all endure for it.”

  To this, Elizabeth had no immediate reply. She folded her arms in frustration. Darcy rose and embraced her. “Why do you torture yourself over this?”

  “Because I am trying to restore normal relations with your side of the family. Relations that were rented by our own marriage, and yet created our own marriage. It was one of her own infamous tirades that gave me hope that you still loved me, after all that happ
ened with Lydia.”

  “And I, the same,” he said. “Hmm, then I must admit, we do owe her a favor. But the problem still stands.”

  “I am not a problem,” Grégoire said quietly.

  “We did not mean to imply that you were—”

  “No,” he said. “I mean, the problem is obviously solved by my accompanying you, if she would have me. I have never been to Kent or met the Fitzwilliams. I have no objection if you would have me as family.”

  “I would always have you as family,” Darcy said, “but when we joke about Aunt Catherine—or mean it seriously—we do mean it seriously. She will burn your ears off if she so chooses.”

  “Do you think my visitation would cause her pain, because she is the sister to your mother?”

  He had a point. Remarkably, it was in Lady Catherine’s favor. Neither of them had considered her feelings. Likely, she would insult him anyway for any number of reasons, but here was the man who was a result of an injustice on Lady Anne Darcy, who was betrayed by her husband and lady-maid during her confinement with Georgiana.

  Darcy debated it and finally said, “If she asks, we will delay your birth date by a few convenient months, after my mother’s death.”

  “Still, I would not want to insult her—”

  “Everyone always insults Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said, “just by breathing. We wish to spare you being her target.”

  “I know of my heritage,” Grégoire said with remarkable calmness. “I have faced it, and I cannot change it, nor would I wish myself nonexistent. I have done my penance, and while I cannot judge others who would judge me, I am not embarrassed, nor shall I hide in shame.”

  “You will perhaps think otherwise of your decision if and when you meet her,” Darcy said. “Elizabeth, we will discuss this later,” meaning, in private.

  “Of course, Mr. Darcy,” she said, and curtseyed like a servant before hurrying out.

  “I’m going to regret this.”

  “Visiting your aunt?”

  “Well, of course, but giving Elizabeth an order, even accidentally. In fact, I’d better go apologize to her right now. Excuse me.”

  “You are quite excused,” his brother said and even had a small smile on his face as Sarah giggled in his arms.

  ***

  He caught up with Elizabeth quickly, as she hadn’t made it very far into the hallway, before she spun around and kissed him, breaking his attempt at conversation. When they finally separated, she said, “We are going.”

  “Do I at least get a say? You know she will spend the entire time berating us.”

  “Surely not. The woman must take time to breathe. And sip her tea in such a derogatory manner.”

  “And you would willingly expose Grégoire to this?”

  “He is his own man, Darcy. Though, yes, the timing is severely inconvenient, but what can we do? I want to go, and he apparently wants to go, so you must go with us. I’ve not seen Charlotte in years.”

  “You’ve also not seen Mr. Collins in years.”

  “One does not equal the other. And you would see your cousins, and Lady Catherine would make a fool of herself if she would stoop so low to insult a monk as pious as your brother, whatever his heritage.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you are just trying to protect us all, but I would not have written countless letters if I did not want the family restored in some fashion. And now we have perhaps the opening to do it.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “She has some scheme, Lizzy. Surely you realize this.”

  “So? She, like the rest of us poor females, can only offer you advice. She can force nothing on you.”

  “I would say no woman can force things on me,” he said, “but there is one. Two, if Georgiana was not so compliant. And four, when the children are out. But otherwise, that is it.”

  “Then we are perfectly safe in your capable hands,” she said and kissed him again, and he found he could do nothing but comply.

  ***

  The ride to Kent was hot and stuffy, and they rested along the way, though there was hardly any rest as Anne was climbing all over things. “Geoffrey!” Darcy said. “Watch over your sister.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “If it was in question, I would have said it that way. Now, go.”

  Geoffrey scoffed but did pull Anne down before she got too high in a tree.

  They did manage to reach Kent at a decent time of day, good enough to be rested and changed for dinner. Lady Catherine, it was announced as their coats were removed, was taking a rest and not to be disturbed. Not to put up any argument, the Darcys were instead greeted by Colonel Fitzwilliam and his wife, Anne. “Darcy!”

  “Richard,” Darcy said, “So good to see you. Allow me to introduce my brother, Brother Grégoire of the Order of Saint Benedict.”

  “Yes,” Fitzwilliam, who had been told about but had never crossed paths with him before, offered his hand. “Very nice to meet you, and of course, Mrs. Darcy and Master Geoffrey.” He had, at several Christmases, met the Darcys’ son.

  Geoffrey bowed to his cousins. His sister Anne ran around him and hugged her cousin’s legs. There were greetings all around, and the children were taken to their lodgings.

  “I suppose you heard, then,” Fitzwilliam said to Darcy, taking him aside.

  “No,” Darcy said. “Our aunt’s letter failed to mention anything special. Somehow I felt she was leaving something out.”

  “My brother Michael has caught something in India.”

  “The earl? What is he doing in India?”

  “What does anyone do in India? Make a fortune. One has to keep up the lifestyle of an earl, after all,” Richard said. “We don’t know the specifics. It’s very hard to get news, but—the news isn’t good.”

  Darcy nodded. “I’m sorry, Richard. I truly am. Is there any way to bring him home?”

  “Only by ship, and he is not well enough to travel, apparently. I would go to see him myself, but I might contract the same thing, and I could not leave Anne with that.”

  “Understood.” Darcy frowned. “Terrible news.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you wish me to meditate on this some more, or may I go straight into speculation that this does not directly involve your brother?”

  “It does, but you may do it anyway. If Michael dies… well, you know what will happen then.”

  “And Aunt Catherine cannot be happy with those arrangements. Or, to be honest, I cannot know what she is thinking. Why can’t she come out and say it, as she does everything else?”

  “I imagine there will be some discussion. I myself have no inkling. Does your wife know?”

  “No. I never saw a reason to tell her. I honestly never thought it would be relevant so quickly. Your brother was a healthy man.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am so sorry,” Darcy said, meaning it as he put a hand on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder. “It is a terrible thing to lose a brother.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam decided not to comment on that particular statement.

  ***

  Retired to their rooms to relax and change for dinner, Darcy was alone with Elizabeth at last and revealed the grave news to her.

  “Terrible! I am so glad Bingley has never gone to India,” she said, “though I know he’s thought of it. But still—this must sound terrible of me to even be thinking, but—”

  “Yes,” Darcy shooed away the servant and sat down on the bed next to her. “It will improve Richard’s standing and inheritance immensely. But that cannot be the reason why Lady Catherine called us here.”

  “But—how can this relate to this, aside from a probable death in the family? If anything, it improves her situation as well, because Anne will inherit Rosings with the colonel.”

  “No,” he said. “He won’t. I will.”

  Elizabeth
stared at him.

  “It deals with the specific nature of the entail of Rosings to the Fitzwilliam line,” he said. “It dates back hundreds of years, longer than the Darcys or the de Bourghs have been part of the family, and I’ve seen the document myself only because it was brought to my attention by my father. Now, my maternal grandfather, whose name I bear, had three children—Anne, Catherine, and Reginald, Richard’s father and the one who inherited the earldom.”

  “Yes.” He had died less than a year after Richard and Anne’s marriage, but at least had lived to see both his sons married.

  “Of those children, the direct line of descent actually goes in order of age of the three original children—of which my mother was the oldest, provided the male did not produce a son.”

  “Which he did; two.”

  “I’m getting to that. So, Rosings would of course pass to him upon his father’s death, which it did, but Uncle Matlock let it to Sir Lewis de Bourgh for a pittance, because his sister Catherine wanted to live in her old family lodgings instead of the de Bourgh family estate. But until the day Lord Matlock died, he was the technical owner of Rosings. When he died, six years ago, Rosings passed to his son Michael. My uncle made his son promise to allow Aunt Catherine to remain in her home as long as she lived, but he is now dying in India. His wife died in childbirth along with the child, so he has no heir.

  “But remember what I said about age of the three children. Now that the firstborn sons of the Fitzwilliam line have all been eliminated, it passes to the next person in line, the firstborn son of the firstborn daughter. I am the firstborn son of the firstborn daughter, as my mother Anne was older than Aunt Catherine. So, it passes to me, and should I die, to Geoffrey, and should he die with no heirs, then to poor Richard, the second born and forever passed over.”

  “Can you not—can you not break the entail and not receive Rosings?”

  He shook his head. “An entail can only be broken with a father and son in agreement. And since my father is dead, I must wait until Geoffrey is of age to formally break the entail and forfeit the Darcy claim to Rosings. And, I imagine, numerous other holdings connected to Rosings.” Darcy frowned. “But it still makes no sense. Unless Aunt Catherine has lost what little sense she has, she realizes I have no interest in Rosings, as I have told her on numerous occasions, and clearly I will happily rent it to the Fitzwilliams for little or no money until I can break the entail in eleven years.” He lay back on the bed. “She has some other scheme here. She will make some wild request of me.”