Mr. Darcy's Great Escape

by Marsha Altman

  “For someone as fastidious as you are about your health, it is quite hard to imagine.”

  “Why do you think I am so strict with my own patients?” Dr. Maddox said. “Because, of course, I know the pains of trying to withdrawal from your personal dragon. Specifically, over Christmas, when you’re trying to hide from your brother and guardian that you’ve spent your last semester becoming a dope fiend.” He shook his head. “The number of doctors he called! And good ones, too. Money wasted.” He raised his jug. “You can never tell him.”

  “Of course.”

  “To your dying day, Darcy.”

  “It may be very soon, Doctor, so you shan’t worry about that.”

  “True enough.” Dr. Maddox sighed. “In an Austrian prison, that, I would never have guessed.”

  “I never imagined I would be married to a country girl from Hertfordshire and have two bastard brothers. Life is just full of surprises.”

  ***

  There was some confusion about whether there should be a funeral for Michael Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock. The package that arrived from India contained only his ashes—apparently their barbaric custom in the Indies—and his signet ring. After a brief ceremony in which his ashes were placed in a hole in front of a marker that would eventually have his tombstone, the three of them—Colonel and Anne Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy—were ushered into the earl state home, where the barrister briefly read over the will. Michael was young, and his will was brief, as he clearly had not expected to die at all, much less abroad.

  “I express my deepest condolences for these circumstances,” said the attorney, passing Fitzwilliam the ring. “Lord Matlock.”

  “At least, in address,” Fitzwilliam said, nervously putting on the earl’s ring as his wife squeezed his arm.

  There was a long listing of the holdings of the Fitzwilliam family, which were considerable—Richard Fitzwilliam was now a wealthy man. He would have to retire from the army immediately for propriety’s sake. Richard and Anne now could claim a great manor house and a townhouse in London alongside their modest home in Brighton, but neither was thrilled at the prospect. What they could not claim was Rosings, and that made it all much more complicated.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” the attorney said, “do you wish to have Rosings shut up, or do you wish to reside there until your husband returns from the Continent?”

  Fear and uncertainty welled up inside her as she said, “It is my wish that Lady Catherine remain in Rosings. Surely it can stay open for her?”

  “She has no claim on it,” he said, “so her residence there must be approved by Mr. Darcy.”

  “He would approve!”

  “Yes,” the attorney said, “and that is perfectly understandable, but he must be here to approve and sign the papers for it.”

  “How can we keep my mother in her home?” Anne said.

  “Mrs. Darcy must take up residence as mistress of Rosings until legal arrangements can be made by its owner.” He was not cruel in his pronouncements; he was stating the law as they knew it to be, but it still seemed harsh.

  “Then I will take up residence in Rosings,” Elizabeth said without hesitation, “for Lady Catherine’s sake. And I will write to Mr. Darcy in Berlin to return home immediately.” Not that she hadn’t done that several times now—and in the most urgent ways possible. It was leaning on suspicious that there had been no return to any of their letters. He could have gone to Austria to find Grégoire, yes—but wouldn’t he have written that he was doing that? Or did he think it would only be a brief trip, only to be delayed while outside Berlin? And that did not explain Dr. Maddox’s similar lack of communication.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” the new Lord Matlock said, “it’s probably the post. We’ll send his steward to find him immediately. A man can achieve much more than a letter, and his steward will knock some sense into him.”

  “Surely,” Anne said.

  For the time, they accepted her comforts as she settled theirs by settling in Rosings to pacify Lady Catherine. Even though she had no great love for the woman, Elizabeth could not bring herself to toss Lady Catherine, who was barely able to move about her house, out of the home that she had lived in almost the entirety of her life.

  In the carriage, Geoffrey and Georgiana were waiting for her. The other children were with Nurse in the other carriage. She took Geoffrey into her arms as she explained the situation to Georgiana. “Do you wish to join us at Rosings?”

  “Of course,” Georgiana said. “And look on the bright side. The post to Kent from Town is much quicker than the post to Derbyshire.”

  Elizabeth managed a smile.

  “Do I have to go to Rosings?” Geoffrey said.

  “Yes, darling. You cannot have Pemberley to yourself quite yet. I cannot imagine what destruction you would cause.”

  He scoffed. “I could stay at Chatton. And I promise to be good!”

  “Geoffrey,” Georgiana said, “I think your mother wishes you by her side.”

  Elizabeth blushed as Geoffrey said, “Oh.” He looked up at her. “All right, Mother.”

  She kissed him. “Thank you. It won’t be for long—I promise.”

  And that was how Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, Rosings, and Kent, came to be a most reluctant mistress of Rosings.

  ***

  Settling in was not as difficult as Elizabeth imagined it would be. She carefully instructed the servants not to defer to her authority in front of Lady Catherine. The woman was well enough to know what was going on around her and to object to it, but also to know that her objections would bear no fruit. Nonetheless, Elizabeth did not want to make her a guest in her own home and tried to keep things as they were, at least in appearance.

  Elizabeth had enough on her mind. She was experienced at running a grand estate and could easily tell that the place she now occupied as mistress had fallen into some disrepair during Lady Catherine’s deterioration. The place was not falling apart, but it was ill-staffed, and repairs were obviously needed in various places. If it would be a suitable place for Lord and Lady Matlock, it would need some fixing up.

  Adding that to her general worry about her husband, Elizabeth was vexed enough when a peculiar letter arrived. Lord William Kincaid, the younger brother of the deceased James Kincaid, had once vied for the former Miss Bingley’s hand while disguising the fact that he was already married. Lord William was traveling through the country on the way back from Town upon the Season’s end. He very much wished to call on Miss Darcy, having apparently heard something of Lady Catherine’s illness and Elizabeth’s position as mistress of Rosings. If he knew the circumstances of her husband’s absence, he made no reference to that fact, but she had no idea why he would. They had no formal correspondence since the wedding of Caroline Maddox. From what she recalled of him, he was a pleasant fellow despite his unfortunate relations, but that did not explain his sudden interest at all.

  Puzzled, she was still rereading the letter over breakfast when Georgiana joined her and, seeing the letter, immediately inquired as to whether it was from her brother.

  “No, it’s from Lord William Kincaid. He wishes to call on Mr. Darcy but is aware that he is out of town, though he does not say more than that. So he wishes to call on me, essentially. I have no idea why—” But, upon seeing Georgiana’s coloring face, she immediately put down the letter. “Might you have something to say on this development?”

  Georgiana put her head down to avoid Elizabeth’s eyes. “You can be so like Brother when you wish to be.”

  “It seems, in his absence, I must, but I am still your sister. Now, Lord Kincaid.”

  “Yes.”

  “Should we ramble about the actual subject or will you just tell me what it is you know about him that I apparently do not?” she said, her manner lighter than Darcy’s, but still with a degree of semi-parental authority.

 
; “Oh, please forgive me!” Georgiana said, clearly ready to break into tears. “I’ve deceived you and Brother for so long.”

  “Deceived?”

  “Well, not deception—nothing has happened. It was just—we ran into each other, on the street in Town this past spring. He decided to finally pay his dues and attend the session of the House of Lords, and was quite lost. So, I offered to show him the way best I knew it. We chatted, and he asked to call on me, but of course he couldn’t, so—” Her flurry of words was enough to confuse Elizabeth as to whether she should be amused or indignant, “—I asked Dr. Maddox to call on him. After all, they do know each other, although they haven’t spoken for years. And since I so often dine with the Maddoxes—”

  “—he’s essentially been courting you? All summer?”

  There was little possibility that Georgiana’s face could get any redder. “No! No, it was not a formal courtship, I swear! I would have gone to Brother for that! It was so much milder than it sounds. And do not think badly of the Maddoxes! Dr. Maddox kept a stern eye on him the whole time, and Mrs. Maddox was—well, you know, she enjoys watching people come together. I was going to tell Brother—but first he was upset from visiting Aunt Catherine, and at that point I had hardly seen Lord Kincaid more than a few times. Then he got the letter about Grégoire—and you know how he is when he is in an unshakable mood. William—Lord Kincaid—he really did mean, right before Brother was to leave, to go to Pemberley and request permission for a formal courtship. He promised me he would, but I dissuaded him, so as not to upset Brother further. But I confess, since he left and took Dr. Maddox with him, I have not had a chance to see Lord Kincaid, and it does bother me, and I considered even asking the Hursts, but I didn’t—”

  “Enough,” said Elizabeth, now thoroughly amused by Georgiana’s exasperated rant. “Georgiana, I understand perfectly.”

  “—And—wait, you do?”

  “Of course,” she said without hesitation. “You could have told me though. I would have taken it into confidence if you asked. And your brother is not so against you marrying as you think. If Lord Kincaid wishes to call upon Rosings—I do believe he met Lord Matlock when he was Colonel Fitzwilliam, at the wedding of Caroline, and besides, Lady Catherine had gentlemen visiting her all she liked, despite her thorough knowledge of convention, so why should I not have the same liberties?”

  “So—he can come?”

  “No matter how the floorboards may creak, I would not deny him the pleasure of seeing Rosings,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, Elizabeth—thank you!”

  “It hardly requires thanks. The distraction of playing the role of both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy during the presentation of a suitor will be a pleasant distraction for me. And Lord knows I could use one.”

  Chapter 10

  The Mistress of Rosings

  Lord William Kincaid arrived quickly from Kent and was received by the new Lord Richard Matlock in place of Darcy. Elizabeth greeted him as the new mistress of Rosings, and they were spared the awkwardness of it, by Lady Catherine, still confined to the upstairs floors. Elizabeth brought forward her son, whom he had met only briefly and when Geoffrey was not old enough to remember, and her eldest daughter, whom he had not met at all. The last they had seen of him was at the Maddox wedding. It was not long ago, and he still had that pleasant demeanor that Elizabeth remembered. Aside from his accent, he was not recognizably a Scot in dress—this time. In greeting Georgiana, he was polite and abnormally shy—an obvious enough sign of affection. Elizabeth silently swore to write to Caroline Maddox immediately and uncover this minor mystery, though she was sure if their informal courtship had been at all improper, Dr. Maddox would have instantly intervened and informed Darcy.

  Lord Kincaid was quickly informed of the situation as it was, with Darcy being on the Continent, but most of the specifics were not mentioned. They had a light lunch. No one wanted to discuss the war, so Kincaid was left to explain how he was finding London and the House of Lords. “A privilege you’ll be enjoying, I’m sure,” he said to Lord Matlock with a sarcastic wink, causing Fitzwilliam to nearly choke on his luncheon meat, which brought a smile to the face of his wife.

  After lunch, Kincaid requested to see Lady Catherine’s famous gardens, and Elizabeth was generous enough to let Georgiana show him. Their chaperone, she decided, would be Geoffrey, who seemed eager for at least one other male in the house and said, “I like him. He talks funny.”

  “But you shan’t say that to his face. Or perhaps you shall. He might like it,” she said, pushing him along. Geoffrey wouldn’t be much in the way of a traditional chaperone, but he was sure to get himself into trouble somehow, distracting his aunt by making her watch out for his welfare. In this arrangement, Elizabeth was content.

  “He seems like a nice fellow,” Lord Matlock said as they watched the couple leave.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said. “He is. I always regret that I missed him swinging from a chandelier.”

  ***

  Lord Kincaid and Georgiana returned within a proper amount of time, at which point Georgiana excused herself to see to Lady Catherine, and Elizabeth found herself facing a very apprehensive Scot in what had once been Sir Lewis’ study.

  “I presume you know why I am here,” he said, bowing. “I apologize for the incredibly poor timing—”

  “There was nothing you could do to prevent it, Lord Kincaid.”

  “Yes,” he said. He looked nervous. “I understand a date for Mr. Darcy’s return is not fixed yet.”

  “No,” Elizabeth replied, feeling uncomfortable herself at the situation, and nauseous from lunch, but that was hardly his fault.

  “Then, in his absence, I would kindly refer to you for permission to court Miss Darcy.”

  She was only surprised in that it was not an outright proposal, and that surprise was minor. “I will consent in his place. However, it can go no further without his personal approval. He is most protective of his sister.”

  “So I have been told,” he swallowed. “But—I see no cause not to pursue this courtship. I do care for Miss Darcy.”

  “I can see that,” Elizabeth said. “You have my blessing. You may call on Rosings as you wish, Lord Kincaid.”

  He smiled, his face flushed. “Thank you so very much, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Believe me,” she said, “it is my pleasure.”

  ***

  Unfortunately, the already overburdened Elizabeth Darcy, mistress of Pemberley, Derbyshire, Rosings, and Kent, had one more unexpected visitor. The very sight of Mrs. Lydia Wickham tugging along her two children was enough to make her sigh and ring for her servants. “Dress my children and get them ready to see their cousins.”

  “Yes, marm.”

  “And have tea sent in immediately. My sister prefers it very sweet.”

  “Yes, marm.”

  Georgiana was in Kent, shopping, her spirits brightened by the arrival of Lord Kincaid. That left Mrs. Darcy alone, but perhaps it was better this way, she thought, as she opened her arms to greet her. “Lydia.”

  “Lizzy! Oh, look at this place!” Lydia was between breaths, shouting for the servants to attend to her trunks and to embrace her sister while keeping hold on her children at the same time. “It’s so grand! And to think your aunt lived here all alone!”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said. “It was quite dreary for her.”

  If Lydia caught her meaning she ignored it. “But come, I must see my nieces and nephew, and you must yours, and we must talk. And tea! Some tea would be lovely.”

  Elizabeth decided not to mention that she had had not a hint of her sister’s arrival until someone spotted a carriage coming down the road, and it was not until Lydia emerged that she actually knew the occupants. Or she had not mentioned the odd and distressing situation of having a husband who had just (unknowingly, probably) inherited a grand estate but was lost on th
e Continent, trying to find his monastic brother. She set those obvious points aside and joined her sister for tea, and there was much comparing of the children. George and Isabella (commonly called Isabel) were older than their counterparts, but not by much.

  “This is such a grand house,” Lydia said. “You are so fortunate, Lizzy, to have two houses. And one in Town! Papa’s finally renovating Longbourn, but it’ll never be anything to compare—you’re just so lucky.”

  Lydia Wickham, now four and twenty, had to some extent matured in manners. Elizabeth kept her occasional temper with her sister intact by reminding herself that at her age, Elizabeth had been married for three years and (as her husband would readily recall) a bit stubborn, ready with an insult when she felt her husband needed it. Not that much had changed, but she could look back realistically and say that two children, being mistress of a great estate, and a hurried tour of the Continent had had some effect on her general countenance. “I suppose I am, but this is only a matter of entail. My husband has no intention of keeping Rosings. It should go to the Fitzwilliams.”

  “But to even have an estate to toss off—that’s truly rich.”

  There was some truth in her statement. “Yes,” Elizabeth admitted, and sipped her tea.

  “Wickham left us with nothing. He didn’t die on the battlefield, even if he was killed, so the army won’t give us anything except some monies meant for his burial. And Mr. Darcy—”

  “Lydia,” Elizabeth said, “can we not bring my husband into this?”

  Lydia gave her a look. It was not particularly harsh, but it was annoyed. “How can we not?”

  “Because it pains me to think of it, as it does my husband—greatly. But he provided for your children—”

  “And he won’t let me touch it! Even for a doctor!”

  Elizabeth lowered her cup. “Darcy refused a doctor? Who needs a doctor?”