"Only a glory dishonestly claimed."
"So says you, but what do you say, eh, lad?" Graham looked down at Robin who was beginning to fuss and squirm just as he had in Jane's arms. "Suppose it's little matter, look at him go. He's a determined little lamb!" Graham gently placed the babe on the blanket only for Robin to roll to his stomach and again push himself up. This time, once he stood, his Da held out his strong hand and little Robin grasped two fingers with his little fist. The steady hand was all he needed to take a few more steps before he lost his balance again, and his grip, and tumbled back to the soft ground.
Both Jane and Graham cheered his little efforts and waived off Alice who made a movement as if to take the boy. Soon, Jane was sitting snuggled closely to her husband as they both helped the baby stand up again and again until it became clear he was tiring, and it was nearly time for his nap.
"Alice?" Graham addressed the maid that had been close to the boy since his birth. Jane began to protest, but her husband turned to her next. "I came back to fetch you, and if you have nothing else planned this afternoon, I would like to show you the progress on the house."
Jane looked wistfully at the garden, as the gardener had long waved himself off and returned to his daily chores. For months now, Graham was gone for most of the day and returning home nearly at dinner time to oversee the rebuilding of his estate.
Their estate, Jane had to remind herself, though when the home burned down last summer, she was merely an acquaintance of the great Lord Graham Hamilton, twin brother to Viscount Haddington, both sons of the Duke of Hamilton.
"If you allow me to see him put to bed and refresh my dress, then I shall be happy to go with you," she replied. She offered her husband a chaste kiss to seal the promise and followed Alice indoors. Graham followed as he declared he, too, would seek refreshment before traveling back the five miles to Blaylock.
"The post, madam." The butler nearly stumbled into Jane in the foyer as he handed her two letters. The first was the regular weekly letter from Mr. Darcy that Jane used for any instructions to the staff. A letter from her sister Elizabeth was often tucked inside as well. But the other message was from Mary and postmarked from London.
Jane tore it open, deciding the letter from the Darcys could wait.
Dearest Jane,
How strange it is to think that I have unexpectedly inherited your moniker instead of Lizzie, but I was cheered to hear of your good news! Lizzie assured me the Hamilton family are of strong character and that your husband is a kind man. I do not mean to distress you, but she told me the story of the fire, and it is only someone of great courage and faith in our Lord who would run into a burning building to save others.
Although my intended may not make me a Countess, as I have learned that Lord Hamilton inherited his grandfather's title, I have news of my own to share. At Christmas, shortly after Richard declared himself, he apprised the Darcys and me of a chance he might see deployment to the Continent. Our uncle was also privy to the plans should such an event come to pass.
I write this as my trunks are packed for Newcastle. The base being so very near to Edinburgh, and Mr. Darcy's house, we have decided to elope there at our earliest convenience. I should say to expect us within the fortnight, but it shall take me at least a week to reach his barracks. Then I must learn of what leave may be had. Our aunt proudly calls this my first trial as a future army wife, planning my nuptials around the needs and necessities of His Majesty's Finest. But I truly don't mind.
Then your long-held precedence shall pass to Kitty, and she will become Miss Bennet. I believe I shall be quite comfortable as Mrs. Richard Fitzwilliam of Matlock. All my best to you, Lord Hamilton, and little Robin. I do love to hear of his antics in your letters and cannot wait to meet him in person.
Your Loving Sister,
Mary
Jane began to shake the letter in sheer joy as the poor butler nodded up and down, but did not know how to behave in response.
"Mary is to be married, here in Scotland!" Jane spun around seeking her husband, but Graham had already gone upstairs, likely to see to Robin's tuck in when she became distracted by the post. With no other outlet for her exuberance, Lady Jane Hamilton bounded up the stairs, hearing Robin fussing as she neared his nursery. Carefully peeking in the room, she spied Graham handing off the exhausted child to Alice as he left the room. Jane took a step back so that her charge would not see her, and beamed at her husband.
"You are very happy about something," he stated, and she suddenly seemed unable to speak.
"My sister is to be married!" she blurted as she followed Graham to the suite they mostly shared as official guests in Mr. Darcy's home, though they also saw to the care of the house in his absence.
Graham Hamilton frowned. "I believe we've known this for some time, or is it Catherine we are to wish joy?" He appeared pleased with himself that he remembered the sisters' names as there were four of them. Even though Lydia was deceased, his wife preferred to speak about Lydia only in the past tense when referring to memories of their upbringing. Jane never referred to Lydia as not being in the present. To Graham, it seemed only reasonable as he knew to care for her sister's orphan was enough of a painful reminder of the loss. She didn't commit it to speech as well.
"No, not Kitty. It is Mary."
"And we were made aware of her engagement months ago," he repeated, still confused.
"Yes," Jane grew frustrated as she kept smiling and fluttered the letter in her hands. Only the sobering thought that her sister Lizzie would point out she was impersonating their mother allowed Jane to calm her nerves. "Mary is to elope because Richard must deploy."
Graham accepted the letter she thrust at him, and without thinking, he reacted.
"A new crop of war widows." As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he looked up in horror at Jane, who was equally mortified. "Forgive me, I did not think."
"I should say not! There is no reason to believe that Colonel Fitzwilliam will die. He's been to war before and survived. The officers are rarely targeted." Jane repeated the often-spoken assurances she told herself since Mary first confessed her affections for the man in a fine red coat.
"As I said, I should not have spoken. But he is cavalry, they are often the most brave."
"And perhaps marriage will change his priorities," Jane countered, taking the letter from Graham gently as she wished to keep it. Graham shrugged and kept his words to himself.
Jane took a good look at her husband and saw a weary man. As he took a seat on the bench in front of the large four-post bed, she saw the months of back and forth to Blaylock House were taking their toll.
"How is the construction proceeding?" she asked as an olive branch. They so rarely quarreled, and it was not a habit Jane wished to start now.
Graham reached up and pulled his wife down upon his lap, squeezing her small frame to his broad chest and breathing in deeply. When an equally large sigh left his lungs, Jane grew worried until she felt his gloved hands begin to tickle up her ribcage.
"Graham," she uttered, only he continued. "Graham!"
He laughed to match her own giggles and tipped her back slightly to plant a kiss just along her clavicle before settling her back upright.
"It's a tedious business. But I am eager to show you the progress," her husband confessed.
Jane pursed her lips.
"I know that look, dear wife. You have other thoughts."
She nodded. Then smiled.
Finally, Jane twisted in his embrace a quarter turn to directly face him. "You look exhausted, and I do hate to see you this way. I suggest we rest and tomorrow, we plan a glorious picnic, and I shall take the carriage out to the house."
"Are you saying my wagon is not good enough for Lady Hamilton? I warned that you were marrying a gentleman farmer!" He laughed as Jane playfully swatted at him.
"I am saying no such thing, but if I am to spend the day inspecting frames and foundations, there are some comforts a lady must pre
serve. What will the servants think?" Jane said, teasing her husband right back as he realized that without a proper house at the site, Jane couldn't relieve herself like the men. He cringed as he thought how foolhardy his plans had been to abscond with his wife in his simple wagon that very afternoon. But Jane was always gentle with him. She never said a cross word or nagged, but still found a way to show him a better path.
Again he sighed deeply, and Jane laid her head upon his shoulder.
"You promise you will come tomorrow?" he asked.
Jane lifted her head and kissed his scruffy cheek as since he began overseeing the building of the house properly, Graham had taken to growing a beard like the men working on the home. "Nothing shall keep me away. But now I must see to the arrangements for our guests. They might arrive any day!"
"Oh no!" Graham pronounced as he effortlessly lifted his wife into his arms before walking the few steps to lay her upon the bed. "You ordered me to rest, lass, and that is only accomplished with your company."
"It that so, now?" Jane said, mimicking the speech patterns of the locals.
"Aye," Graham replied before finding other ways to please his wife than just tickles.
Chapter 6
A few days of rest was all Mrs. Darcy needed to feel herself again. After a tense dinner monopolized mostly by Mrs. Bennet asking Alistair Darcy to speak on and on about his time in India, Kitty, Georgiana, and Robert skittered away early. The two sexes made a brief separation for all to restore their moods before two footmen awaited in the foyer to lead the procession of guests upstairs to the drawing room.
Two magnificent torches, usually reserved for evening carriage arrivals for a ball, were the only light as Lord and Lady Matlock took their precedence, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and the entire ensemble completed by Uncle Darcy escorting Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth relied heavily on her husband's arm as she nearly tripped on the steps going up. She could feel Fitzwilliam tense underneath her gasp.
"This is a folly in itself," she said lightheartedly and patted his forearm with her free hand. "Dark stairs and a woman heavy with child are no mix!"
"I should have insisted on more light. They wished to set a mood," Darcy explained, unhappily. Regrets were of no use as it was too late to remedy the situation without further delay.
Once they reached the two tall double doors to the drawing room, the party drew up short. The footmen stood stoically in their posts, minding that the torches did not burn any undesired fuel such as hair, gowns, or wallpaper. Both young men focused singularly as the scale of the light was not suited for indoors, even in a hallway so large as Pemberley's grand gallery.
Suddenly, Elizabeth felt someone touch her bum. "William!" she exclaimed, a little louder than she had meant.
"My dearest?"
Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear that she had felt his hand on her hindquarters. As Mr. Darcy shook his head, she felt a pinch, this time with a prolonged grope added for measure.
"I BEG YOUR PARDON" she roared as she spun around so fast, the culprit had nary time to escape.
"My deepest apologies, Mrs. Darcy!" Uncle Darcy feigned embarrassment, but the flicker of the torch as the footman drew near revealed his smirk. Too angry to speak, Elizabeth protectively cradled her midsection while Mr. Darcy placed himself between his uncle and his wife.
"Have you lost your senses, Alistair?" Darcy challenged. "I should turn you out this instant!"
"An honest mistake, I beg of you. Though a remarkable resemblance."
As Elizabeth scoffed at the vulgarity and Mr. Darcy fumed, suddenly the double doors to the drawing room opened stymying any further physical assault or argument.
A rousing minuet from the hands of Georgiana Darcy greeted the elder generation of guests. Swiftly, Elizabeth touched her hand to Mr. Darcy’s forearm.
"Pray, no lasting harm is done. I do not wish to ruin tonight when our sisters have worked so hard."
"A later time, I assure you," he muttered angrily.
"Precisely." Then Elizabeth expertly led them to the assembled chairs so that the Matlocks were between herself and her mother and Uncle Darcy.
Lady Matlock glared at Alistair Darcy with the same critical eye she'd reserved for him since they were all beaux and debutantes themselves. She had never approved of any man who imposed upon a lady. And Alistair Darcy's impositions were legendarily fraught with consequences. Unfortunately, it was not her place to chastise him nor counsel Mrs. Darcy on the merits of disciplining an unruly guest in one's home.
Despite the frustrations she felt towards her husband's relations, Elizabeth became captivated by the spectacle of the room. Candles had been strategically arranged to produce shifting shadows dancing along the walls. Squinting her eyes, Elizabeth spotted glints and glimmers of colored glass. The shards rhythmically swung in front of each candelabra, hanging by a string from the wall sconces.
"Oh, William," Elizabeth whispered as her husband began to feel some joy again from witnessing his wife's discovery of the decor. His hand found hers to give a gentle squeeze just as a low moan bellowed from behind the curtain. Georgiana played a flourishing trill, two chords, and a final staccato single high C. Then silence descended upon the room.
Robert Fitzwilliam, the Honorable Viscount Ashbourne, leaped onto the makeshift stage, barechested to his breeches and his skin slick with oil. He raised a large conch shell to his lips and blew.
"The devil did he find that?" Lord Matlock complained.
"Hush dear," his wife scolded, "recall Captain Darcy. I'm sure his things are in the attics."
"Yes, yes," the Earl of Matlock grumbled, squirming in his seat to find a comfortable position after slightly overeating at dinner.
Robert glared at his father before delivering his lines. "We call upon the great Dionysus and all of his nymphs to bless this meager offering. And to you mere mortals privileged to witness, consider yourselves fortunate beyond measure to enjoy the world debut of the Supreme, the Divine, and the Beautiful—" he paused for dramatic effect as every woman with the title Mrs. before her name held her breath that Robert Fitzwilliam would be so brash, "writings of Miss Catherine Bennet."
Almost as quickly as he had appeared, Robert was gone, replaced by two maids timidly scooting on stage dressed as fairies.
At first, the two women froze. For too many uncomfortable seconds, no one spoke. A tinkling from the high keys on the pianoforte broke the silence, and the maid named Rachel snapped out of her stupor.
"O the wind, the wind! My wings grow weary," she croaked out, nudging the fairy next to her. The other maid startled and whispered her line.
As none could hear her, the entire audience leaned forward, and Rachel jabbed her fellow actress again.
"Mine as well, let us rest here until the wind subsides," the second maid said, not performing nearly to the level of the first fairy.
The two maids crumpled to the floor as Kitty burst upon the stage from the center curtain, her skin aglow in metallic powder and a long zephyr-like gown flowing about her form. As she lifted her hands, her long sleeves were attached to the skirts so that they appeared to puff out like a gust of wind had caught them.
"What is this? It cannot be. Arise my children of the gale. The ground is not safe." Kitty looked over her shoulder to the far corner of the stage as she flitted and floated around the crumpled fairies.
"We cannot. We are too weak. Please, lessen the forces we must fly against." Rachel begged, rather convincingly. Kitty gazed lovingly at the fairies and tilted her head to the side.
"I dare not. I dare not. Now rise, before it's too late!" Kitty raised her hands again, looking up, as Robert slithered onto the stage and then stood crouched like a frog. His skin was painted with patches of green, and he stared around and around like a resident of Bedlam.
"I spy two tasty morsels before me. However did I become so lucky?" he eyed the two weak fairies with an expression of desire. For greater effect, he licked his lip
s.
"Hurry, my children. I will calm the winds briefly, but you must fly!" Kitty urged.
Rachel rose immediately, but the other maid remained on the ground. Rachel's fairy joined the goddess of the wind in her urging.
"Lilac, you must not tarry! Listen to Aura!" Rachel fluttered her arms while the other fairy ignored her. Robert's evil frog hopped closer to the fairies.
"No! This is all her fault! If she had not tired us out, we would have returned home long ago!" Lilac complained as the frog villain edged ever closer.
"Argue now, and you may not argue later! You must fly!" Rachel's fairy insisted.
But it was too late. To the gasps of the crowd, Robert's frog villain tossed a long red ribbon hidden in his hand to simulate a frog's tongue, and then used his other arm to cover the fairy Lilac with a black cape before the two rolled off stage.
Rachel began to tear up as she turned on Kitty's goddess character. "How could you have allowed such treachery?"
"Fly, my child, and lean on your own strength. Feel the power in your wings," Kitty stage whispered, as the two began to travel around the stage. Intermittently, set pieces were slid under the curtain and held up to symbolize the distance and terrain around them.
The fairy began to look at both of her arms and flap them with more confidence, and their speed increased. The set pieces struggled to keep up, and finally, a tree constructed from what resembled a coat rack with liberal decoration from the hothouses stood firmly on the far stage right. The same place the villainous frog had appeared earlier.
Rachel bent in a near perfect plie while Kitty's character remained a few feet away from the tree, acting as though she were still in the air.
"My friend is lost! But I made it home even though we had flown too far. How?"
Kitty's Goddess of Aura gazed sympathetically at her charge. She reached out a hand, then turned it gently to place her palm up. "Alas Lilac worried about her toil. But you tried once more and discovered the toil made you stronger. And that, my child, is why the wind blows so hard. So that your wings never fail you when it matters most."
A Spring Society Page 5