Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Diana Birchall

  "Good heavens! But Fitzwilliam does not smoke."

  "He does; I have seen him do so at the races."

  "Races! Mr. Henry, surely you, a clergyman, never attend race meetings."

  "I have been to one or two in my life, I am very fond of horses you know, Cousin Collins, though of course I do not bet. But this is not much to the purpose, when my mother is thinking about Fitzwilliam."

  The music began for a scottische, and Elizabeth returned to her seat in despair. Nowhere in the flouncing dancers could she discern her son or his cousin, and as they were two such striking figures, their not being in the room was certain.

  In fact, the young couple had stepped out through the garden door to breathe the chilling air, for Bettina scorned fears for her health; and there Fitzwilliam, fired by her bounding spirit, her beauty, and her open pursuit of himself, proposed to her quite contrary to his father's commands, and was accepted instantly, indeed almost before he could speak the words. They returned to the heated ballroom, an engaged couple; and the happy man, who had taken a sufficient number of cups of wine punch to loosen any feeling of restraint, ebulliently stepped up to his father and spoke the tremendous news, conveniently overlooking what would be Mr. Darcy's likeliest reaction.

  "Father, I have proposed to Miss Wickham, and I am glad to say she has accepted me. I know this is not precisely in accordance with your best wishes for my future, but I am sure, when you see how happy we are, you will approve."

  "Great God, Fitzwilliam! That is more than I know! But how can you conceive that this is the place for a discussion of such things? Consider, almost every one we know in the world is present in this room, and probably ten or twenty of them are listening at this moment. Let us end this. You will come to my study in the morning, if you please, sir, and we will talk then. But I must say, such an application at this time, and in this place, is highly displeasing to me."

  Fitzwilliam tried to say something, but Mr. Darcy continued, "Enough has been said, sir," and turned away.

  Fitzwilliam returned to Bettina. "Well, he was a little taken by surprise, certainly he was surprised; but I think all will be well in the morning," he told his bride elect, who smiled and simpered and tried to blush.

  Mrs. Darcy saw her husband turn away from their son, and she walked through the dancers, nodding and smiling here and there as she went, until she reached her husband's side and took his arm.

  "I see you have found Fitzwilliam. Was all well? I think he had better dance with Miss Partridge, or perhaps Miss Elwood, next."

  "My dear, I must speak to you privately for a moment, if you please. Come into the supper room."

  They adjourned there, in the hope that the guests would think they were attending to last-minute arrangements for the repast. It was fortunate that the room was empty, except for half a score or so of servants. These were busy enough laying out the six couple of roast fowl, the twenty pheasants, the baron of beef, the venison pies, gooseberry pies and plum pudding, and they had no time or inclination to pay the least attention to their master's private conversation with his wife.

  "Mrs. Darcy, it is inconsiderate of me to trouble you with this matter tonight, and in the midst of a ball, but you must know it without delay."

  "Oh, what is the matter?" she cried.

  "Fitzwilliam has proposed to Miss Wickham."

  Elizabeth sank into one of the gilt dinner-chairs. "Oh, no! You told me that he promised, so faithfully!"

  "I hardly believe Fitzwilliam knows what it is to promise something faithfully. I am very much disappointed in him. But she will be his wife, unless we can do something about it, and that quickly," said Mr. Darcy.

  "What, what can we do? He is of age; he has proposed, and if the match is broken off, he will be guilty of breach of promise, will he not?" asked Elizabeth.

  "Would not that be better than his having such a wife? And perhaps some influence can be brought to bear, to prevent such an eventuality. Unfortunately, his obtaining my permission is only a moral, not a legal, obligation. I can hardly justify disinheriting him, because we do not approve of his wife."

  "The scheming creature! This is all her fault. Fitzwilliam never was tempted to behave in such a way before. Oh, what a mistake to have Lydia's daughters here - how I repent it! She must leave at once," said Elizabeth emphatically.

  "Not, I hope you mean, while the ball is going on."

  "No; certainly not. But in the morning, we must make arrangements for the carriage to take her straight back to Newcastle, and Lydia with her. We can say that urgent business called them. Oh, to be rid of them both, would be untold bliss," Elizabeth said with a sigh.

  "And it must be understood that there is no engagement. I will talk to him in the morning - but I have little hope of prevailing, after this. Fitzwilliam is his own master; and unfortunately has little more sense when he has had nothing to drink, than when he has."

  "Is this the result of intoxication, then?"

  "Who can say? It is immaterial now. The wonder is how we ever came to have such a son, Elizabeth. You, the cleverest woman I know, and I hope I am not deficient; but Fitzwilliam is so intolerably stupid that I can hardly fathom it."

  "Do not say such things in anger, my love. He is able enough; it must be that, as our first child, we spoilt him, - first born, first fed you know - and thence comes this lack in him, of consideration, of feeling. But to think of such consequences as this! It is what nobody does think of, when they let their little child have all that it wishes."

  "I do not think it is any of your doing, Elizabeth. Do not blame yourself. Neither of us treated him any differently than we did his brother and sister, and in the event, it is useless to repine."

  "Of course it is, but you know, Darcy," said Elizabeth thoughtfully, "I think there was different treatment. You doted on Jane; I doted on Henry; and our great, lubberly boy, the least lovable of the three, grew up rough and uncared for."

  "I hope not. And we may be able to do something with him yet. He has not a bad heart; and perhaps there is no real harm in the girl."

  "That, I fear, is too much to hope. Where Fitzwilliam is weak, Miss Wickham is positively pushing; and she was too much for him, in this instance," said Elizabeth.

  "I tremble if it is so," said Mr. Darcy, "but you have seen more of her than I have. There is no hope, of course, of her parents withholding their consent."

  "My dear! You ought not to indulge in pleasantries at such a time. You know it to be impossible. But Cloe! Dreadful. I had forgotten. She is perfectly guiltless; must she be sent off too?" asked Elizabeth.

  "If one sister goes, I should think both must."

  "Oh, dear, does not mischief come in by the pound and go away by the ounce? Henry will be sorry. He has grown so fond of Cloe; and so has Jane, of course," Elizabeth lamented.

  "My dear wife, I trust you are not implying that both our sons have fallen in love with their cousins. That really would be too much," said Darcy.

  "It is too much; but I fear it is so. I have never seen Henry so attentive to a young woman, and Cloe is all she should be, all that I could want in a daughter. Oh! If only this had not happened, we might countenance one cousin-marriage."

  "I don't think I could. But this is faulty reasoning, Elizabeth. Why should one match of that sort disgust you, and another, exactly like, not be seen in the same light?"

  "That is very true," she said slowly, "and yet there is a difference. Fitzwilliam's behavior stamps his match as a disobedient, disobliging one, formed in error, and to be repented of. My dislike is based on a matter of character. Cloe is a very different kind of young woman from her sister, who is vulgar, presuming, untamed, like Lydia. There is nothing in Cloe's character to make a marriage with her objectionable; barring the degree of affinity, I think Henry could not find a better partner. And oh! That the first, disgraceful match, should prevent the other from ever becoming a reality! But Henry would not marry where his brother had already brought such distress upon the family. Mr.
Darcy, shall we send one sister away, or both, or neither? It is a dreadful dilemma, to be sure, and I don't in the least know what to do."

  "We will consider it tomorrow. We have guests to attend to now, Elizabeth, and must be no longer absent."

  "Yes, we have been gone too long. Heavens, what suspicions must Lady Catherine have formed, by this time? That this should happen directly before the eyes of nearly every connection we have in the world! We could not make a more public spectacle, if we had studied for years. I could not have believed it. Well: we must put the best face on it, but I don't know whether they must be sent packing in the morning, or not."

  CHAPTER VIII

  Elizabeth did not spend many hours in her bed, as the last of the dancers did not tire until five; and then she could not sleep, but took counsel Eof her pillow. In her agitated, anxious, troubled mind there arose thoughts of her two sons, who heretofore had shown no inclination for matrimony, and were now both deep in the business. In neither case could she see much prospect of happiness. She could not decide whether she was more distressed by Fitzwilliam's declared suit or Henry's undeclared one: she did not like her elder son's choice, but in propriety and eligibility it was no worse than that of the younger - better indeed, in one way, for Fitzwilliam could well afford to take a portionless wife, as he was heir of Pemberley.

  So she reasoned; but her heart could not follow her thoughts. She liked and approved of her niece Cloe, a well principled, modest young woman, eager to improve herself, willing to work in a humble, indeed distasteful profession, rather than contract obligations to any one else. Cloe was the daughter she wanted, and she was sure Henry cared for her; yet she did not know how far she wished that his suit might prosper. He had not spoken, and he would not, in honour, aware as he was that there were serious considerations against the match. Perhaps his father would consent, but it would cause him pain, and Henry would not seek to press his point until the time was right. And now, if his brother's hasty and imprudent marriage went forth, the time never would be right for Henry: he must consider that his own hopes were at an end, for he would not put his parents through double distress, bringing disgrace and ridicule upon the house.

  Convinced as she was that Henry's attachment was sincere - though, in his tender disinclination to distress her, he had never breathed a word of it - Elizabeth was equally certain that Fitzwilliam's love was the fruit of idleness. It was no new thing for a man of easy temperament, and with plenty of leisure, to be attracted by a powerfully determined young woman, bent only upon securing him. She doubted that he had a suspicion of his Bettina's real nature, that she was, as Elizabeth thought, a veritable combination of her parents' worst traits: noisy and vulgar like Lydia, and devious and unprincipled like Mr. Wickham. Of Miss Wickham's heart, Elizabeth thought very little, though she tried to believe that there might be no real harm in the girl, and that her forward and ill-bred manners might be all that made a match with her worse than one with her sister.

  Contrary to the usual ways of mothers, it was impossible for Mrs. Darcy to believe that the young woman was really in love with her son. Where was the attraction? He was no more than ordinarily well looking; he was not clever and had few of the qualities of conversation and sympathy that a woman would find beguiling, who had not a marked passion for fox-hunting. But he was heir to Pemberley, a prize for any girl to seek, and Bettina was not the first girl in the world to try to marry for money.

  Mrs. Darcy was not even sure it was fair to condemn her, considering who she was and what she came from. What future was there for a young woman who did not marry? If she went out to work, any hope of social and material betterment was irretrievably lost. Women who were forced to such circumstances must be respected, but were far more to be pitied, for the inevitable toil, degradation and hopelessness involved in their condition. A married woman might be considered her husband's property, according to law; but in return, her husband was obliged to care for her; and there could be no doubt that every woman of small means, would best be advised to marry, and marry as well as possible.

  Bettina must do what she could for herself; and she had little enough to recommend her - a handsome appearance, high animal spirits, and a healthy regard for her own interest, and that was all. She had no fortune, and the highest worldly boast she possessed was her tenuous connection with Pemberley. Her father could give her nothing, and she had not a clever mother to help her arrange matters.

  Elizabeth had felt the lack of the same when she was single, and had not grown too old to remember how she had envied girls whose mothers could teach them, help them, and allow them to remain modestly apart from delicate matrimonial maneuvering. But Elizabeth and her sisters had been far better off than poor Bettina. Their father had been able to maintain them, after all; even if they had not married they would hardly have starved. The Wickhams, however, were a lamentably numerous family, and apart from their abundance of children, they had nothing.

  When she thought of this, Elizabeth could almost find it in her heart to retract her hard feelings about Fitzwilliam's engagement, and pity her niece. But there was another side to the question - Mr. Darcy's side. The pride of the Darcys was undoubted; and although his marriage had softened him much, Darcy could not rejoice in the prospect of this insolvent, indecorous young woman for his daughter. That she should succeed Elizabeth herself as chatelaine of Pemberley, assume the headship of the Darcy family, and be lady of all the surrounding countryside, was a painful prospect. Was it improper, unjust pride that gave weight to such considerations? No, decidedly not: for the marriage of Mr. Darcy's heir affected more people than only the young man himself. Perhaps it was unfair to suppose that Bettina would not be a model of charity, a careful custodian of Pemberley, a fitting steward of the Darcy fortune; but Elizabeth felt the conviction that she was far more likely to be on the side of extravagance, gadding about, and a London life.

  Contemplating the dilemma in sober sadness, Elizabeth resolved that the engagement, if not totally broken off, must be discouraged. At the very least the young people must be made to wait for as long as possible, to see if their affection would be as short lived as it was ill judged. It would never do for Miss Wickham to remain at Pemberley, and be treated by the family, as a daughter-in-law elect. She must go at once; and Elizabeth contemplated an opening by way of Lydia, to tell her that as they were to leave for London so soon, the house party must be broken up: Mrs. Wickham and her daughter would return to Newcastle, at Mrs. Darcy's own expense. As for Cloe, Jane would want to claim her companion, but if Miss Wickham could not be got rid of without her sister, then Cloe must go too.

  Mrs. Darcy rose with her mind made up, and sat in the breakfast room, toying with her bread and coffee, and appearing, to her husband and guests, more silent and out of spirits than they had hardly ever seen her.

  "Are you well, my dear Elizabeth?" asked Mrs. Collins anxiously. "You have not overtired yourself, sitting up late? I am sure you ought not to have come down so early this morning, after a ball."

  "I am perfectly well, thank you Charlotte," said Elizabeth, rousing herself. "I cannot sleep late. It is more pain to do nothing, than something."

  "I am the same way precisely," said Mr. Collins, "and it is an excellent thing, too. A country clergyman cannot have the late hours that his city brother may be allowed to indulge himself with. There is too much to be done. The farm to attend to - petitions from one's neighbours - an infinite amount of business. I hope you will remember that, Mr. Henry, and not think you can lie in a bed of ease, now you are a clergyman."

  "I never thought so, indeed, Mr. Collins," replied Henry.

  "That he never has," said Jane indignantly. "Henry is always up ever so early, and he walks out and does a great deal of writing before breakfast. And Lord Frederick is the same. Are you not, Lord Frederick? Were you not in the garden hours ago?"

  "You know I was," he answered with a smile; "you were kind enough to show me all your favourite plants. I know of nothing more e
njoyable, than taking a lesson in botany from such a knowledgeable young lady as yourself."

  Jane blushed, and turned to Mr. Collins. "No, we are all early risers here. It is only Fitzwilliam you see who is the lie-abed. Look now: it is near ten o'clock and where is he? He is not downstairs yet."

  "Is it ten?" said Elizabeth, surprised. "Fancy, and it is a maxim with him, that the sleepy fox has seldom feathered breakfasts. I have heard him say it a hundred times."

  "He ought to be here," said Mr. Darcy, in some displeasure. "I have a particular wish to talk to him this morning, and he knows it. Sykes - will you send a housemaid to call Mr. Fitzwilliam? He must have gone back to sleep. I cannot comprehend it, on such a morning."

  "Oh, Mr. Darcy," said the manservant, "Mr. Fitzwilliam is not in his chamber at all; when the housemaid went to call him this morning, he was already gone."

  "Gone? What - has he taken his horse out?"

  "I couldn't say, sir. Shall I make inquiries?"

  "Fitzwilliam and his early rides," said Jane, "at least I was unjust in calling him a lie-abed, and on the morning after a ball, too. This is excessive energy, to be sure. And he does not like to miss his breakfast, as a general thing."

  "But he is not the only one missing breakfast," added Lydia, "Oh! No! There is Lady Catherine, and Betty."

  "I hardly think they are together as you have bracketed them, ma'am," observed Jane, with a smile. "No, Lady Catherine ordered breakfast to be brought to her own room today," said Mrs. Clarke, who always knew such things, through her habitual close questioning of the servants. "Cook was quite put out, but she would have it so; she says she always does it, the morning after a household is distracted by a ball. I took especial care that all was arranged properly, you may depend upon it. I was glad to spare my sister from such worry. And I believe Lady Catherine found the eggs very fresh."

  "But Betty?" wondered Lydia, looking about vaguely. "Where is she?"

  There was a pause, as Mrs. Darcy caught her husband's eye in alarm, and they both turned to look at Cloe, whose confusion and distress were evident.