Mendacity and Mourning

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Mendacity and Mourning Page 31

by J. L. Ashton


  The two men watched the cleric hasten to the side of his beloved, who received him with more warmth than either thought warranted. Richard shook his head in disgust. “This is a sorry business and no way to extend an olive branch. Why didn’t my father simply have the toad beaten and trundled off somewhere?”

  He stalked across the room to the window and looked at the landscape until a giggle caught his attention. As ever, only the joyful laughter of giddy young ladies could cheer up a bachelor losing his cousins to marital felicity and unpleasant family relations.

  Darcy took up his old post as a haunter of walls. He remained ever watchful of his sister, now speaking earnestly to Elizabeth and Jane; it was a sight that once again affected his eyes and compelled him to blink rapidly. He felt safer in his emotions by watching his cousin deluged with questions and flattering observations. Few sights were more amusing than seeing his gruff cousin blush at the attentions of curious yet guileless girls. After an especially loud squeal of laughter, he caught his cousin’s eye and called him over.

  ***

  Richard excused himself while Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine huddled, deep in discussion.

  Upon reaching Darcy’s side, he drawled, “Do your duty as my favourite cousin and co-guardian to your sister, and swat these girls away from me. I am defenceless to their charms and insults.”

  Darcy scowled. “But not to their endowments. When speaking to my future sisters, do repress your basest instincts as a Fitzwilliam and draw on your mother’s genteel stock.”

  Richard chose the route of an imp and debated the point. “My mother reads novels. These girls read novels. Their father is a gentleman, my father is a gentleman. So far, we are equal.”

  “And you are better than twice Miss Lydia’s age.” Darcy rolled his eyes in recognition that his cousin would never stop teasing him on the matter of romantic love. “They are pleasant young ladies, Richard, but natural and unsophisticated. I shall be their brother, and I shall relish calling you out. If you need to flirt, you will find opportunities in London. If you need a wife, let your mother ply her matchmaking talents.”

  Richard groaned. “I have you and my commanding officers to order me about and send me hither and yon. What need have I for a wife? I need a woman.”

  “Your absence would be alarming, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Who would my put-upon and oft-besieged husband-to-be turn to for escape from this endless talk of wooing and weddings?” Elizabeth slipped her arm into Darcy’s and smiled brightly at the startled men.

  “I…um…we did not see your approach, Elizabeth.” Darcy glared at his cousin.

  The colonel, his cheeks flaming, cleared his throat. “You must call me ‘Richard,’ you know. Informality becomes us all as family.”

  “Yes, and as you can see, my family is deeply informal in its behaviour,” Elizabeth said wryly, her gaze sweeping Longbourn’s crowded sitting room. “Will you make me privy to all Fitzwilliam and Darcy family secrets, the hidden lore, and the many misadventures of my betrothed and his merry band of cousins?” She glanced from one man to the other. “Richard, you must have an abundance of tales to reveal, and I expect to hear them all, no matter their suitability for a lady’s ear.”

  Richard straightened. “Indeed, I do, Elizabeth. Your dullish man has a less lively past than some; he must thank me for nigh all fun and adventure in his life.” He winked at Darcy and smirked. “He will avow that his bookish interests kept him from troublemaking. I say all those books kept him from a life more interesting.”

  “Ah, but a life more interesting is mine now.” Darcy directed a smug smile at his cousin before shifting his attention to the lady by his side. His expression softened with his voice. “I shall soon be wed to the most captivating woman in England.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Richard replied. “So happy, so in love.” He watched as the couple became lost in each other’s regard. Darcy wore that simpleminded grin he used to have as a wee pup eating cream cakes. Elizabeth simply…swelled with happiness. Swelled? Bad word choice. She glows.

  He was a second son, destined to earn his way in the world and marry—or preferably just bed lonely widows and wealthy lady friends. The joy and felicity emanating from the couple before him was staggering, like one of the puffy clouds the two of them stared at and tittered over. Was there some way to capture this happiness in a bottle, to boil down its essence, sell it, and make his fortune? His mother would think him so clever. The scent of amorous love, wafting about all of London, and her son raking in gold. Love in a bottle. Eau de Joie.

  Richard sighed. He was no chemist, and they were a hopeless pair. You two may wrestle in the sheets and play spillikins while discussing Latin poetry in French, but I shall be on my horse, sword at my hip, keeping you and your family safe. Then I shall come drink your brandy and teach your children to tease you. Yes, that will be my way.

  In the meantime, he still needed a woman to relieve his suffering. It was time to go.

  “London is calling,” he mumbled cheerfully.

  ***

  Mr. Bennet sat in his chair, newspaper lowered, quietly observing The Daily Spectacle of Lovers and Oglers. His wife was settled across from him, sorting through a box of lace while Mary watched with more patience than she felt. She had declined the following day’s shopping trip to London, preferring to spend her time in study and preparing for the duties of a vicar’s wife. Mr. Collins would be leaving in two days to open his parsonage and announce his engagement to his congregation. With a wedding in not much more than a fortnight, she had much to do.

  “Mary, a bit of lace here and a pull of some thread and one of Lizzy’s old gowns will do you nicely. Mr. Collins will appreciate it.” Mrs. Bennet furrowed her brow and peered closely at her daughter’s chest. “We shall pull the thread very tightly.”

  Mary stared down at her chest and up at her mother. She sighed, looking relieved that her mother’s attention already had moved on to lecturing Lydia and Kitty about their future happiness. Did they mourn the absence of Colonel Fitzwilliam, now back in London on what he called Very Official Military Matters?

  “Men with moustaches do not make good husbands,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “I have heard tales of hirsute men and their cruel indifference to their families. Why, that Mr. Larkin in Hatfield was rumoured to have—”

  “Rumoured, Mama?” Kitty smiled prettily. “But the best rumours are always unfounded, and they are always about the best men and meant to inspire envy and ire.”

  Lydia chimed in. “’Tis true. The only fabrications we heard about Wickham were those he told, and the things said about Mr. Darcy were obviously untrue. He is wonderfully nice to Lizzy, and I rather like his smile.”

  She lowered her voice and leaned towards her mother. “You need have no worry of my admiration for his cousin, Mama. His moustache is rather fearsome, and I believe I saw jam and biscuit crumbs hiding within it. I suppose it would be dashing if it hid a battle scar or two.”

  She exchanged looks with her sister. Kitty’s face lit up with excitement. “I believe I have a new scheme,” she cried. “Where is Georgiana? We must ask her to convince her cousin to shave!”

  The two girls jumped up from the settee and wandered away to plan their mission.

  Mr. Bennet stifled a chuckle. “Mrs. Bennet,” he said quietly. When she looked up, he continued, “I have not encouraged your matchmaking nor complimented your skills, but today, I must commend you on your mastery with these girls. All of our daughters are cleverer than I had realised.” He smiled at Mary and leaned back in his chair.

  “I like Bingley, of course. He is a man who must be liked, and those who fail to do so will lose a loyal and generous friend. Collins will amuse me for years and maintain Longbourn as it always has been, albeit with fewer books, better gardens, and more disciplined hives.” He winked at Mary before gazing across the room at his secon
d daughter, her head bent to Darcy. “But Lizzy’s groom, now I believe he may well be my favourite. So many entertaining and sordid tales preceded his first appearance, and he left so many more in his wake. Add to that his skill at chess, love of books, and a fine talent for arguing with both Lizzy and Lydia. With these three sons, I look ahead happily to my years as Longbourn’s old toast.”

  “Papa! Language!” Mary cried.

  Mrs. Bennet fastened a stern look on her husband. “I must ask you, Mr. Bennet,” she began. “If any man comes to Longbourn before the New Year and wishes to court Lydia or Kitty, please stay closed up in your library. I cannot part with another of my girls for now.”

  “Ah,” he replied, “at least until they are invited to London or to Pemberley?”

  ***

  After dinner—and before Darcy, Georgiana, and Bingley returned to Netherfield to join an ailing Miss Bingley, her loyal sister, and a disgruntled Hurst—Elizabeth walked with her intended along Longbourn’s walled wilderness.

  In spite of the darkness, Darcy could see the dying vines that wrapped the walls. He smiled, thinking that the walls of his heart had surrendered to the tendrils of love. Oh lord, Richard is right: I am a complete idiot! Yet he misses so much without such love in his heart.

  He gathered himself to speak sensibly. “In spite of the little time she has been given for it, your mother is pleased to have three weddings to plan.”

  “Her perch atop Meryton society is secure. Neither gossip nor rumour will besmirch the Bennet-Darcy-Bingley-Collins families.”

  He stopped and stared at her, blinking.

  “You look like a fish, sir.” She squeezed his arm playfully. “Are you well?”

  Darcy sighed. “You must allow me time to reconcile that my future happiness requires accepting Mr. Collins as my brother.”

  A sympathetic smile greeted his confession. “He is a sour bite to swallow, is he not? Are you certain your uncle and aunt will not resent me for his connection to you?”

  “Elizabeth, you are marrying into the strangest family in all of England. I have a lumpish-headed aunt estranged from her love-crazed daughter, a cousin who cares too much for silly jests and ladies’ figures, an uncle whose abuse of glassware breaks his household budget…”

  He shook his head, half-amused and half-appalled by the blank truth of it. “Truly, after the blending of the de Bourgh, Fitzwilliam, and Dumfries bloodlines, my aunt and uncle can have little to say on the matter.”

  Elizabeth patted his hand. “We must steer Georgiana towards a manly sort when she chooses her husband: a great shooter of guns, swinger of swords, and reader of books. You deserve such a brother, and in the meantime, together we shall face the unpleasant spoonful known as Mr. Collins.”

  He laughed quietly and kissed her cheek. “Yes. And then on to meet the Dumfries. Such a large dose of grudging acceptance we must swallow.”

  “You promised we shall be equal in our marriage.” Elizabeth’s fingers played with his waistcoat. “Our families are kind to facilitate it.”

  “Oh yes,” he agreed. “We shall strengthen our marital felicity by sharing incredulous laughter and horrified glances.” Darcy held his breath and glanced down at Elizabeth’s hand, slowly tucking a thread back through a buttonhole.

  “And this,” he gasped. “You weaken me and make us stronger.”

  Elizabeth grinned up at him. “These are important matters, fixing the wayward tailoring of your clothing.”

  “Ah, remind me to fire Smith. And my tailor.”

  “Fitzwilliam, be serious,” she cried. “Let your brain idle a while rather than creating a new family crisis.”

  He drew her hands to his lips. “My brain is never idle whether you are near or far.”

  “I shall believe that to be a compliment,” Elizabeth said in a playful tone. She stared up at the sky. “The stars are especially bright tonight.”

  “Absolutely stunning,’’ Darcy replied quietly. He heard her indrawn breath.

  The trill of Miss Lydia’s laugh sounded behind them. Quickly, Elizabeth pulled Darcy around the corner and into a walled thicket.

  “You, sir, owe me an explanation. Your cousin tells me you once were dullish. Your sister tells me you have been known to gift the world with your smile only once a fortnight.” Elizabeth leaned against the thick vines. “Who is this dour Darcy? I do not know him.”

  “Nor will you ever. He is a man of the past. I am a work of your heart and your goodness.” He stood before her, his eyes searching hers in the moonlight.

  Her small, gloved hand caressed his cheek. “You are a poet, my love,” she whispered.

  Darcy bent down and kissed those teasing lips. He pulled back just a fraction. “And you are my happiness.” When Elizabeth responded with a shiver, his dutiful Darcy sensibilities kicked in. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed away any vestige of the cold.

  ***

  It was most fortunate that the Matlocks remained in London and thus could meet their nephew’s betrothed whilst she was in town shopping for her wedding clothes. They would leave two days hence for their home in the north, and then the earl would escort his sister to Scotland. Or, as Richard liked to say, “The land without a fruit tree. Seems likely to cure my aunt of her afflictions.”

  “Oh, Dickie,” his mother said sharply. “You should be kinder to your aunt and to Scotland.”

  His father’s voice cut more deeply. “Boy, you are an officer in the king’s forces. Did you pay no attention to your geography lessons? Apple, pear, and plum trees grow in Scotland!”

  “Yes, well,” Richard responded, more grumpily than he would like them to note, “the worms inside them likely freeze.”

  He despised when his parents worked together to deliver him a set-down. He paid no attention to his brother’s scolding, and Darcy’s admonitions never wounded in the same way. Richard would miss his cousin’s company once Darcy was married. In the short time he had spent at Netherfield, he had seen the devotion and the attraction between Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. He had never seen his staid cousin so full of smiles and sheepish grins; in fact, Richard had felt terribly well behaved for almost never mentioning the twisted cravats, swollen lips, or dreamy expressions. Even more impressively, he had never chanced even a glance at any one of the Bennet bosoms. This was difficult work, as Elizabeth was captivating and her two youngest sisters eager to hear stories of his adventures.

  His adventures. Yes, he would be off to his regiment soon enough. Just one day after the wedding, but he would not dare tell his cousin and provide him with worry. Though perhaps it might be just what Darcy needs to keep his mind occupied and his breeches looser. Ha! He is a lucky sort of lovesick fool.

  Any further thoughts were set aside in calming his parents’ anticipation and anxiety for meeting Darcy’s future wife.

  ***

  They were to gather for tea at Matlock House on a cold Thursday afternoon. The countess wore her lesser jewels, donned her favourite afternoon gown, and adopted a hopeful countenance; Darcy was determined and in love, and she could do nothing but hope that Richard’s reports on the lady were trustworthy. Her younger son was a talented twister of the truth, but some years ago, she had discovered that the disciplined officer had developed a twitch in his eye when he misled her. She attributed it to guilt, mayhap to maturity, but certainly to yet another flaw in the Fitzwilliam family tree. Peter and Catherine had the odd twitch as well. Her older son, Robert, did not, but while he had always favoured her family in looks, his staid dullness was of unknown origin. Harriet was his perfect complement, and she anticipated they would leave before dinner. It was Thursday, after all.

  Lady Matlock examined herself in the mirror as she recalled that Richard’s eye had not twitched once when he had spoken about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had reminded them that Anne had chosen a
husband of rather questionable value and uncertain character, but there appeared to be deep—though unpleasant to witness—affection between them. Darcy, on the other hand, had been chosen by a lady of prodigious value and character, and they should appreciate his great fortune.

  At such times, the colonel’s parents were at a loss to understand their son. Did his loyalty to Darcy run so deep that he would shield a woman unworthy of the Darcy name? He praised few people and almost never a lady. They could not wait to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her sister, and her London relations. Still, Lady Matlock made sure to admonish her husband to behave himself.

  Not ten minutes before the Darcy carriage arrived from Gracechurch Street, Richard gathered his parents and brother and filled their glasses from the brimming carafe. Harriet was indisposed, and Richard felt she likely was either preparing for her evening of baby making or sickly from a previous Thursday’s success. His brother’s face betrayed nothing. His parents looked expectant. He must do all he could to aid Darcy.

  “Darcy is pleased you will meet Miss Bennet before leaving town.”

  “He may be less pleased if we are not at his wedding. The rush of it all, Richard…” Lord Matlock raised a fearsome eyebrow.

  “It is a bit of a hurry up,” Robert said dryly. “Not like the old, dutiful Darcy.”

  “Not like you to wonder so at another’s private affairs, Brother,” Richard retorted. “You have no cause to think badly of Darcy or Miss Bennet. I have told you nothing but good things about her. She and Darcy have much in common, with books and music and such. She is lively, and that is a good thing for him.”

  “Richard, we never suspected she could be quite as unsuitable as Anne’s choice, but you praise her quite highly.”

  “I have a high regard for her, Mother, and rightly so. She is all that Darcy needs and deserves.”

  His mother gave him a wistful smile. “In his letter, he said his parents would more than approve; he said they would adore Elizabeth Bennet.”

 

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