Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

  Richard, who remained bemused by the couple’s obsession with all things skyward, blamed the moon, stars, sun, and clouds for causing him to be beset with so many yard imps screaming, “Uncle Dickie.” Yet his visits to the family were of long duration, and when he was away, his letters to the children were regular and full of adventurous stories and silly riddles.

  Beloved as their bemedaled cousin could be, it was their father who taught the Darcy children their favourite hiding game of Lost and Found. All vied to be the last one discovered, earning an especially heartfelt hug from their beloved papa as he happily pronounced them “found.” Their mother taught them to laugh and to make believe, to chase a cloud but never a butterfly. Their Aunt Georgiana taught music to those willing to play; she encouraged the others to listen or to sing.

  Although Lord Matlock once had urged Richard to marry Georgiana, Darcy threatened to break every glass and brandy bottle at Matlock House if such an idea was ever again proposed. The fear of fusing the Fitzwilliam bloodlines into a new generation and unleashing said offspring onto London society was all the reminder Peter Fitzwilliam needed—though he needed to hear it from his wife, his nephew, and both sons before he gave up on his idea.

  Instead, Georgiana married a young earl and lived happily in the country with her horses, dogs and cats, lineage charts, and pianoforte until they began their own family.

  Richard sniffed at domesticity but never took the bait set by his many lady friends. He rose to the rank of general and enjoyed the respect of the men stationed below him and the exertions of the ladies lying beneath him. All who met him quaked at or admired the presence of the man and his moustache.

  Rather than marrying one perfect lady, he preferred the role of lover to many women and grumpily indulgent uncle and cousin to the dozen or so children (he lost count by 1820) produced by the Darcys and their spouses and, at long last, Robert and Harriet.

  Thursdays had not been fruitful for the stoic couple. It took a hot June day visiting Rosings, with a tour of Peregrine’s paintings and his collection of Italian sculpture, for a Monday to prove itself as the fateful and productive day—again and again, in fact, until they had three sturdy sons. None was named Richard, but two had his teasing, rather combustible Fitzwilliam nature; the other was easily his father’s favourite.

  Doctor and Mrs. Dumfries remained in Surrey but spent a month or two every summer at Rosings with their three hirsute children. The Collinses also were frequent visitors to the estate. Anne had drawn close to the couple and their children as, by all reports, Mary’s influence on her cleric husband had been greatly to mutual benefit. She smiled more; he talked less. She oversaw a strict household and ensured bodies and clothing were cleaned. He ate less as well, though his desire for smaller servings often was attributed to Mary’s careful discipline with spices.

  The bond between the two women was especially strong and useful when dealing with Lady Catherine, who—ensconced under quiet guard in the dower house—wished to be heeded by her grandchildren and thus declared all small persons to be under her purview. However, Peregrine Dumfries had taught his children to laugh at any rule and person they found ridiculous, and Rollo and his three sisters quickly learned to turn tables and instruct their grandmother in the fine arts of mud pies, tea parties, and puppetry. Lady Catherine—her head free of lumps, her bad temper spent, and her heart seemingly open—was a champion of the gifts of all her grandchildren, taking a keen interest in Theodosia’s love for the harp, Florentia’s skills at painting screens, and Patience’s gift for poetry. Of Rollo, she could find no fault.

  The Bingleys remained at Netherfield, close to the Bennets and at the centre of Meryton’s fine society. Bingley found himself many friends with whom to laugh and shoot and to advise him on dam construction and fallow fields. He had love and joy but no one to remind him of common sense and firm decision-making. He received Darcy’s letters with alacrity but failed to write cogent, legible replies; nevertheless, his friend and brother remained his stalwart adviser. Jane had never enjoyed letter writing, but she maintained correspondence with her sisters and her aunts in which only happy events were mentioned and glorious thoughts were recounted. She spent much time with Louisa Hurst and less with those she could call her own.

  The couple was blessed with sons and daughters so plentiful that they wished for sisters to help teach them. Instead, it was Mrs. Bennet who did her best as tutor, for though sisters were abundant, they were not available, not capable, or not interested. Until her marriage to a disgraced duke’s son in Brighton, who preferred ornithology to balls, Caroline Bingley divided her time between the Hursts’ London house and the Bingleys’ country estate. The boisterous joy found in both households verified her theories on the foul nature of children, and she proved skilled with sponges, lemon juice, and headaches to protect herself from the role of mother. She also grew fond of parrots.

  Kitty preferred the company of the Darcys. She continued to draw cow-like horses, but after many lessons with the master Darcy had retained for her and Georgiana, it was clear that Kitty could boast of a decided talent for landscapes; she had a special gift for sketching beech trees. Upon her return to Longbourn after a long stay at Pemberley, she found that Samuel Lucas had stopped smiling at her quite so openly and had transferred his admiration to a girl more pleased to stay rooted in Meryton. Years earlier, the tongue wagging would have disturbed her, but Kitty Bennet had been out in the world. Hoping to further advance her painting, she moved into Rosings and became a pupil of Peregrine. Three years after her sisters were wedded, an introduction to one of his best customers brought Kitty marriage to a London solicitor.

  Lydia, who had immersed herself in Darcy’s collection of sky maps and cloud books, found a sea captain who shared her passions. They sailed to Africa in 1819 and sent gaily wrapped gifts to the nieces and nephews they did not know. Her mother especially missed her, but it was Mr. Bennet who was her most faithful correspondent. Many of his letters were written from Pemberley, where he wore out the seats of at least two finely upholstered chairs in the library.

  Darcy not only became Mr. Bennet’s favourite son, he long had been Peter Fitzwilliam’s favourite nephew. The earl would always see him as Anne’s boy, quieter than his own sons and almost withdrawn after his mother’s death. He knew Richard was a blessing for Darcy, and it had been no surprise when Darcy had turned to him for support upon choosing a bride of whom the family might not approve. Years ago, when Lord Matlock had first met the young lady, he had observed her exchanges with Darcy and the smiles she elicited from Georgiana, and he understood her value. She would be good for Darcy and excellent for diluting the often-extreme strains of the Fitzwilliam bloodline.

  Yet he had believed that there was one aspect of their family mantle Darcy should accept and wear proudly, and thus when his nephew married, it had been time to acknowledge him fully as a Fitzwilliam. Lady Matlock had chosen the couple’s wedding present, but Lord Matlock made sure another, more private gift awaited Darcy in his library.

  “Not every man would give another an embroidered pillow,” the earl stated as he gazed, beaming, on the fine needlework and awaited Darcy’s response. “But blast it, we are Fitzwilliams. We have traditions we must honour.”

  Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant roe; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times; and be thou ravished always with her love. —Proverbs 5:19

  And as it was the Darcy tradition to be both amused and appalled by the Fitzwilliams, he and his future wife had swiftly determined certain family gifts and customs were best kept private. So there, at Pemberley, the pillow sat, warmed and then faded by the chequered sunlight that fell across the bed they would happily share for five decades.

  — The End —

  Acknowledgements

  This story was hilariously fun to write and share with others. I owe much gratitude to my unknowing family, blissfully going
about their business while I wrote it, and who were sweetly considerate and supportive as I went about editing it. They’re the best.

  I had some knowing and encouraging friends as well, especially Cathie, Julie, and Anniina, who read this story and laughed and sighed in all the right places (and told me when they didn’t), and my fellow writers, Vickie and MJ, who happily shared some naughty Regency vernacular with me.

  Hugs and thanks to Gail Warner, a lovely person and a gifted and supportive editor, for parsing my sentences and knowing a chortle from a chuckle; and to Zorylee Diaz-Lupitou, a remarkable artist who delved into the story and designed perfect (and perfectly clever) front and back covers. Everyone at Meryton Press is delightful, and I appreciate everyone there—especially Ellen Pickels, Michele Reed, and Janet Taylor—for their support, talent, and dedication.

  I cannot thank my parents enough for instilling in me a deep love of books and allowing me to read at the table. My deepest thanks and love to Robin, Emma, and Samuel, who read books and screens, make me laugh, and give me time to write.

  And of course, this book wouldn’t exist if not for the words of Jane Austen. I’m not sure what she would think about the cheeky liberties I’ve taken with her beloved characters and story, but I do hope she would get a laugh from it.

  —J L Ashton

  Meet the Author

  Jan Ashton didn’t meet Jane Austen until she was in her late teens, but in a happy coincidence, she shares a similarity of name with the author and celebrates her birthday on the same month and day Pride and Prejudice was first published. Sadly, she’s yet to find any Darcy and Elizabeth candles on her cake, but she does own the action figures.

  Like so many Austen fans, Jan was an early and avid reader with a vivid imagination and a well-used library card. Her family’s moves and travels around the United States and abroad encouraged her to think of books and their authors as reliable friends. It took a history degree and another decade or two for her to start imagining variations on Pride and Prejudice, and another decade—filled with career, marriage, kids, and a menagerie of pets—to start writing them. Today, in between writing Austen variations, Jan lives and works in the Chicago area, eats out far too often with her own Mr. Darcy, and enjoys membership in the local and national chapters of the Jane Austen Society of North America.

  Mendacity & Mourning is her second book with Meryton Press. She published A Searing Acquaintance in 2016.