Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

  Darcy followed Georgiana and his strutting cousin to Netherfield’s library. He glanced at the gleaming, nigh-empty bookshelves and sighed. He missed Pemberley and wished desperately to take Elizabeth there and keep her there.

  Richard walked over to the long reading table, devoid as always of books, and sat upon it. “Lady Catherine will soon be travelling with my parents.”

  “To Scotland?” Darcy scowled. This was suspicious. “Why have they not yet left?”

  “Doctor Dumfries called in an associate to examine Lady Catherine in London, but she fell ill shortly afterwards. Bad cheese, she claimed.” He stifled a snort.

  “It is a trick. She cannot be trusted.”

  “No, she truly was ill. Perhaps with regret,” Richard assured him. “Dumfries had her examined by some expert on the head.” He shrugged his disbelief. “Her head was found to be oddly shaped, and he believes that her anger and outbursts could be assuaged by medical work—kneading and rubbing of the scalp or some such.”

  Darcy, incredulous, guffawed. “Her head?”

  “If they squeeze it too hard, lemon juice might pour out.” Obviously astonished by her own words, Georgiana clapped her hand over her mouth. “I…I did not mean…I apologise.”

  Darcy stared at his red-faced sister, stunned by her joke. She has been spending too much time with Richard. Or Miss Lydia.

  “Do not worry, poppet,” Richard said, laughing. “It was a keen observation. Your brother has been less than kind in his similes and metaphors about the ‘fruity’ Fitzwilliams.”

  Darcy glared at him before touching his sister’s arm. “Sweetheart, you are a Darcy; you are but one-half a Fitzwilliam. Please be kind to your less fortunate cousins and aunt.” He earned a slight nod from Georgiana before turning back to Richard. “Why on earth is Lady Catherine’s misshapen head suddenly the focus of so much attention? Is she diseased? Will this cure her bitter, irrational anger?”

  “It is a ridiculous notion that touching my aunt’s waxy head might make her happy. She despises being touched. When I was a boy, she would smack me when Mother made me kiss her chalky cheek!”

  “You have established that Lady Catherine is both chalky and waxy, Richard.” Darcy rolled his eyes. “Now tell us, is there a bump of some kind? A tumour?”

  “No, simply a series of odd protrusions, some scabbing. Rather monstrous, really. An expert in Edinburgh will address it.” Richard glanced at Georgiana and realised he had exposed too much to an innocent girl. He gave her a smile. “Lady Catherine always has been a difficult woman. My father tells amusing stories of her childhood tantrums. He and your mother called her Crabby Cathy.”

  Georgiana gasped and bit back a giggle.

  Darcy leaned back against the bookcase and crossed his arms. “Georgiana, you, as my mother, are nothing like Lady Catherine. It is a blessing to us all.”

  “Very true, my dear,” Richard barked. “The lady has no peer in pomposity and self-importance. Or, apparently, head lumps. Mayhap Anne has them as well. It could explain her odd behaviours.

  Richard shuddered before strolling over to the side table to pour a glass of brandy. “My father will write when there is a verdict on her health. Neither pen nor paper is within the grasp of our aunt; these matters will remain private. But there will always be rumours about her disappearance and about Anne’s curious wedding.”

  “And curious husband.” Darcy added, looking at his sister. “You must disregard any letter or any gossip that reaches your ears, my dear. I would advise you to think of the past only as it gives you pleasure, but I believe we have few such pleasurable memories when it comes to our dear aunt.”

  “She cared for Mama—you said so,” Georgiana said in a plaintive voice.

  Brother and sister stared at each other—one uncomfortable, one sad.

  “I would like to think on Cousin Anne’s happiness,” Georgiana said. “She wrote me a delightful letter about settling in at Rosings. It would appear her husband has decided opinions on Lady Catherine’s choice of decoration.”

  “Do tell.” Richard smirked.

  “He has declared the house is to be rid of all animal heads and hides. The elephant-footed table is to be burned.”

  Aghast, Richard scowled. “The trophy room? That is the only respectable, liveable room in that mausoleum. Damn it, I knew he was a—”

  “Richard!” Darcy shook his head. “We shall talk later about other mutual acquaintances. For now, excuse me. A letter needs to be written.”

  He turned to walk away then whirled around. “Georgiana, we do not yet go to Pemberley. I have some business in London. You and Mrs. Annesley may remain here or return to the city with me.”

  “Yes, Brother,” Georgiana said, her eyes wide. “I shall have more time with Lizzy and her sisters?”

  Darcy nodded and went off to his rooms.

  ***

  Richard was confused by his cousins’ melancholy about Lady Catherine. My aunt cares for no one other than that foul little spaniel. Cromwell, was it?

  “What is it, Richard? Is something wrong?” Georgiana asked worriedly.

  “Not at all.” The colonel stared at the empty doorway. “Your brother is love-struck. I wonder whether he has won Miss Elizabeth’s hand.”

  “Proposed? And not told us?”

  “The man might have some fox sense after all. I shall question him later.”

  Georgiana sighed and sank into a chair. “Richard, is everyone like this when they fall in love?”

  “Yes, poppet.” He sagely stroked his moustache as he always did when pretending deep thought. “Or so I have observed, having never been under such a spell myself. Mark my words: I am not, nor shall I ever be, a besotted pig-widgeon. But nigh on every man I know falls under a lady’s spell sometime.”

  Georgiana sighed. “How does it happen? Is it always so sudden? I never imagined my brother could be so…full of blushes and smiles.”

  You have yet to see Anne and meet her “dear Peregrine.” Love is an epidemic in this family. He squeezed his eyes closed as the recollection of the Wretched Night of Headboard Shaking and Moaning swept over him. He needed to have a woman soon to dispel the horrific memory.

  “Oh, it is simple, my dear,” he explained. “Your brother might be a stiff and proper man, but he never saw it coming. I do not know of their first encounter, but he likely was riding or walking along, minding his own business—or Bingley’s—when suddenly, there was The Lovely and Wondrous Elizabeth Bennet. Time stood still, the air became thick, his head swam, and he became weak in the knees. His head whirled. And then he was in love. Simple as that.”

  “But—”

  “Well, of course there were complications, but at the heart of it, the love was there. An undeniable truth.”

  Georgiana sighed. “You know so much about love, Richard. I cannot wait until you meet a lady who turns you upside down.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Loath though he would be to admit it, Darcy felt a bit let down by Mrs. Bennet’s subdued response to the news of Elizabeth’s engagement. He had prepared himself for raptures, shrieks of joy, and the likelihood of uncomfortable pats and squeezing. He thought he could endure them as a counterpoint to his own family’s likely violent-shock-turned-silent disappointment. However, the momentous events of the past days had seemingly sapped the lady of her shrill energy. She had been elated at Jane’s engagement, shocked by Mary’s, and now, it appeared, merely content with Elizabeth’s.

  His betrothed, his lovely and beautiful bride-to-be, merely smiled when he looked at her, surprised.

  “Too many salts?” he whispered.

  Elizabeth bit back a laugh. “Too many weddings,” she replied.

  It was only after the squeals, hugs, and questions from Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia were properly heard, retur
ned, and answered, that Mrs. Bennet quietly asked Darcy about his favourite dishes. He had never seen her so restrained.

  “Mr. Darcy, make no mistake. I am well pleased with you and our Lizzy. Your shared affection is a surprise to me, but already I can see the harmony of your minds.”

  She gazed across the room, and Darcy was afforded a view of her that he did not anticipate: a pensive woman. Her brow was furrowed, and she wore a sad smile. It was the first time he had noted any resemblance between Elizabeth and her mother.

  “I am reserved in my joy for Mary,” she continued. “We shall keep Longbourn, and she is more contented than I thought possible. I wish to be equal with my happiness for all my daughters…”

  Darcy was impressed. This was not the Mrs. Bennet with whom he had become familiar.

  “But it is difficult, you know, because of the rumours and the gossip. Everyone is watching to measure which daughter’s marriage should be best celebrated and whether Mary’s is suspect.”

  Ah. There she is.

  “Your ten thousand a year will provide such gowns and jewels and carriages for Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said dreamily. “Poor Mary is well prepared to be a parson’s wife though I dread the moment Mr. Collins discovers she despises fish.”

  He smiled. It was his duty, after all.

  ***

  When freed from the politely intemperate society of Longbourn, Darcy took advantage of every opportunity to be alone with Elizabeth. Even before Richard drove over with Georgiana—Darcy’s unfounded worries over Mrs. Bennet’s fervour had brought out the protective older brother in him—the ardent suitor was regretting the sheer number of Bennets and servants roaming about Longbourn. He and Elizabeth managed a brief turn in the garden with Jane and Bingley; both couples sought out privacy within its confines for whispered conversations and displays of affection.

  The weeks they had spent apart had led Elizabeth and Darcy to more than an examination of feeling and the sorting out of mistaken understanding. While they had long felt themselves to be friends, their newfound knowledge of mutual regard had prompted a deeper appreciation of each other’s appearance and a desire and confidence to touch the other. Carefully and respectfully, of course.

  It might have been an engagement of but a day, but Darcy had long found his thoughts dwelling on Elizabeth’s more-than-pleasing figure, the soft curve of her neck, and the temptation of her lips—and other places. For all his past thinking that he would be her guide, Darcy found himself nigh unable to think cogently in the rare moments they were alone. Instead, she led him. He would like to think his vulnerability was intentional, and he was determined not to allow his cousin to see how deeply he was in her thrall. At least not until she wore his ring.

  ***

  Elizabeth had no comprehension of her power over him. After endless days when she felt alone and apart from those who would toss around rumour and conjecture about a man they did not know but whom she called friend, she was content simply to touch him and know he was real. Yet she was a lady who cared for knowledge and sought proof in all things.

  Thus, on this escape from the maddening crowd of Longbourn, it took little time for her to discover that Darcy liked her fingers in his hair and her lips just below his ear. She quite enjoyed the way his hands held her—gentle and warm yet chaste—and the manner in which he had quickly determined their mouths best fit. Tongues? Who knew such things? Elizabeth Bennet had never been prone to sighing, but Fitzwilliam Darcy had changed that. He made her sigh.

  Our mouths, our minds. Our bodies and souls to come. Elizabeth, always a quick study, chose to tuck away such thoughts. Her future husband was clearly more experienced than she was, and the quickness with which desire could come to overrule rational thought unsettled her a little. Perversely, it took but a memory of how Mary had gained her haplessly mendacious betrothed for Elizabeth to recall herself. With their sense and appearances restored, they returned to Longbourn where little intelligence could be spared. Mr. Collins was expounding on the beauties of Hunsford for his “most glorious nuptials to his good lady.”

  Darcy’s discomfort was not noticed by his beloved as she was busy being pleased. The decision about Mary’s wedding location had been, perhaps, the second happiest moment of Elizabeth’s day. Her father had agreed that Mary would be married from Hunsford within three weeks, and her sisters would marry a week later from home.

  “I would wish for a longer engagement for you, dear Lizzy, but I have no desire for the sighs and melancholy that accompany a winter-long epistolary love affair,” he had said in a woeful voice. “Your aunt is well-practised assembling wedding clothes for her other nieces and will likely be delighted to do so for you and Jane. The price for her kindness will be a quick marriage here before she can no longer travel.”

  The announcement of the wedding dates had Bingley nearly bouncing with excitement. Darcy steadied his friend and smiled at Georgiana, whose countenance shone with happiness. Elizabeth stole a glance at her elder sister. Ever serene, Jane was glowing. She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and turned to her. “All is as it should be, Lizzy. The best of men have claimed us to be their wives. I regret speaking in haste and so unthinkingly about Mr. Darcy. I was so anxious for my own happiness that I neglected yours. I beg your forgiveness.”

  “Jane, all is well.”

  “We will share our day, Lizzy,” she said fiercely. “As it should be.”

  Elizabeth looked away, her trust and faith not yet restored, and discovered Darcy’s eyes settled on hers, waiting to be found. She let go of Jane’s hand and walked to his side.

  ***

  As subdued as Mrs. Bennet might have been to the latest nuptial news, Richard more than compensated with a boisterous guffaw of congratulations.

  Although he pouted that he had not been the first to hear his cousin’s news, he happily welcomed it and declared that, as Most Favourite Cousin, he would partner Mrs. Darcy for the second set at every ball for the rest of their days.

  He reacted less well to the news of Darcy’s future brother.

  “Him? That foul-smelling cod’s head of a cleric? Him?” Richard stared dumbfounded at Darcy. “Anne has gifted us with bloody Peregrine Dumfries for a relation and now this? The clubs will bar their doors to us!”

  Darcy rolled his eyes. Richard has a filthy mouth, and Miss Lydia will be a great audience. He too had needed time to make peace with the notion of a family connection with Collins; yet, he had known without asking that Elizabeth had set aside her own repulsion to support her sister and was likely more worried for his feelings.

  “I cannot begrudge my sister her own bliss when I am so happy,” she had said. “But you cannot be pleased. Nor will your family find much to praise in the connection.”

  The distress in her voice had pained him. “You have yet to meet most of my family and my wide array of eccentric relations. Their wealth and lineage protects them, but they are truly little different from their peers in their quirks and behaviours.”

  Elizabeth had stared at him with a doubtful expression. “You will meet them in London and judge for yourself,” he had assured her before stealing a kiss. “As for Mr. and Mrs. Collins, we shall keep them tucked away in Kent. My cousin and her husband will have great need for your cousin’s theological advice and your sister’s common sense. I believe they will make a happy foursome for whist.”

  Now, a day later, visiting Longbourn and witnessing the cleric’s smug joy, Richard required similar reassurance though Darcy refrained from embracing him or stealing kisses.

  “Calm down, your moustache is jerking about.” His eyes drifted to Georgiana, who sat in a circle of Bennet girls, laughing and chattering happily. He blinked quickly and inspected the wall.

  “Damn it, Darcy,” Richard snapped. “Who has cursed our family with such a man?”

  “They spend no time in London; yo
ur marital prospects will not be tainted.”

  “Be serious. Is there no other solution for Miss Mary?”

  “She seems to care for him,” Darcy replied, shrugging. “And, I think, he for her.”

  “Such husbands these women choose!” Richard shook his head.

  Darcy cleared his throat. “Bingley and I shall assume you refer to Miss Mary and my cousin Anne and not all of the Bennet sisters.”

  Richard, arms crossed and body coiled, grunted. “What they will do to the bloodlines alone…”

  “Please, Richard. No further comment on the marital felicity of our cousin or my future sister. Remember, I must prepare Elizabeth to meet the Dumfries.”

  The colonel’s moustache twitched—lately, a frequent occurrence—but he remained silent. Finally, in a tone that almost broached levity, he replied, “You must buy my father a case of the finest French cognac. Only that may alleviate his anger.”

  Before Darcy could reply, Collins appeared before them, his face contorted in a mix of fear and pride. “You have heard my happy news, Colonel Fitzwilliam? I came to Longbourn to extend an olive branch, and I have chosen a bride. New leaves will sprout and strengthen our family tree.”

  “So to speak,” Darcy said dryly. “You are a fortunate man. As Pope said, ‘Just as the twig is bent, so is the tree inclined.’”

  “Enough of your damn Latin nonsense, Darcy,” Richard growled. “Go buy a new ride and talk to me of saddles and horseflesh.”

  Collins nodded in eager confusion. “I do not ride, sir. I am a man of God, and my feet remain planted on His soil.” He leaned in and bent his head closer to the colonel. “I look forward to returning to my parsonage and becoming acquainted with your cousin’s new husband: the master of Rosings.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed and his face turned a deep red. “Have you not met? I recall a letter from my cousin expressing her dismay and outrage at your dismay and outrage. You were displeased to find she was alive?”

  Collins caught the colonel’s menacing expression and excused himself.