Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Cressida Lane

  * * *

  Darcy was collecting the books he’d chosen for his daily visit to Miss Elizabeth when the library door opened.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, surprised. This was the first time she’d appeared downstairs since falling ill last week. “Whatever are you doing down here?”

  She smiled but before she could answer him, Bingley came in with Miss Jane Bennet.

  “They’ve been freed,” said Bingley. If the good cheer in his voice sounded forced, it was to Darcy’s ears only. “Mr. Jones has just proclaimed them well. What news, eh?”

  “That is excellent news,” said Darcy. Despite having dreaded this day, he found no small amount of relief in the news.

  “We’ll trouble you no more, Mr. Bingley,” said Jane, blushing slightly. “I’ve written to my mother already. We expect our carriage at any time.”

  “So soon!” cried Bingley. “But surely not yet. You must stay for dinner. That was the original purpose of your visit, was it not – to dine with my sisters? I’ll let them know and we shall have a proper meal tonight before you leave.”

  Miss Jane looked at her sister.

  “Do stay, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy. “Perhaps you can convince me to read Fordyce after all.”

  She smiled at him for that. “If you insist, Mr. Darcy, though you may yet regret asking.” Elizabeth looked back at her sister and they nodded.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” said Miss Bennet.

  “Not at all, not at all,” he said. “But where are Caroline and Louisa? I’ll fetch them down. They’ve been miserable, having to stay away from you this last week.”

  Darcy arched a brow at that assertion, but as he suspected it served Charles’s interests for the Bennets to think well of his sisters, he did not refute it. Miss Jane Bennet smiled placidly; once Bingley had quit the room she turned away, amusing herself with the art on the walls and leaving himself and Miss Elizabeth in relative privacy.

  “I expect you’re quite happy to be returning home,” he said.

  Miss Elizabeth blushed a little. “I confess I am, though I’ve enjoyed our talks so very much. I hope you won’t think meanly of me for wanting to return home again.”

  “Of course not. Although Netherfield will suffer for it.” Darcy did not add how very much he had come to prefer her company.

  Perhaps he should consider courting her.

  He banished the thought on the instant. However well matched they might have been, her family had proved entirely unsuitable; any intimate connection between her family and a man of his position was untenable, unthinkable even. It made Darcy rather sad but he shook it from his mind before Elizabeth could notice the effects. His thoughts could not but injure her feelings – or at the very least her pride – and he would not see her injured.

  A knock sounded in the parlour.

  “Darcy,” said Bingley, looking rather queer. “There is a man just arrived who says he needs to speak with you in private.”

  Chapter 5

  “Oh?” said Darcy.

  “I don’t know him - didn’t recognize his name in the slightest, but he’s very insistent about speaking with you immediately. I’ve put him in the south sitting room.”

  “How curious.” Darcy knew no one in this part of Hertfordshire whom Bingley had not himself introduced.

  It must be a message from his steward at Pemberley, thought Darcy. Though he’d had a letter from the man just that morning. He took his leave of Bingley and the ladies.

  Darcy made his way to the south sitting room.

  He did not recognize the man at all, either.

  “You’ve asked to see me, sir” said Darcy.

  The man’s back stiffened as he turned. His clothes were not fashionable but were made with quality. He held a thick folio under one arm.

  Not a gentleman, thought Darcy. But this man was also not someone seeking help of some kind. Curiouser.

  “You are Fitzwilliam Darcy, of the Pemberley estate in Derbyshire?”

  “I am.”

  “Forgive me these next questions, sir, but I am under strictest orders to ensure this information is imparted to the correct person.” The man appeared to brace himself. “Can you give me your father’s name, please?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “I’m ordered to ask this of you, sir. Please understand, I mean no disrespect. I am required to verify your identity in this manner before I can proceed.”

  Darcy did not possess an active temper but the suggestion that he might be other than what he claimed was distasteful in the extreme.

  “I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. My father was George William Darcy.”

  Seeing that no argument was afoot, the unknown man appeared to breathe a little easier.

  “I thank you for your indulgence, sir. I have only one question remaining for you,” he said. “Can you speak for me your mother’s brother’s name?”

  This must have something to do with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s remaining estate, thought Darcy. Though he’d worked with the solicitor to put that to rest months ago; the Colonel had been dead for going on two years.

  “My uncle is Matlock. He is Charles William Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock.”

  “I appreciate your forbearance, sir,” said the man, relaxing visibly now.

  “You have reached the end of it. Who are you? What is your business with me?” said Darcy.

  The man set down the folio and began to unpack its contents.

  “My name is John Weatherby, sir. I have had the pleasure of serving the Earl – your uncle – and the Fitzwilliam family these twenty-five years.”

  “Serving him, how?” asked Darcy. “You’re Matlock’s major domo?”

  “The term is appropriate. In my previous career, I was a solicitor. Or so I was until I met the Earl.” Weatherby ceased his actions and faced Darcy with his hands behind his back.

  “I regret to inform you, sir, that the Earl has been killed,” said Weatherby, his voice quiet.

  Darcy did not speak, could not speak for a moment.

  “He’d been travelling with your cousin Lucius and his family. I believe you were acquainted?” said Weatherby.

  Darcy nodded. Lucius Fitzwilliam was Matlock’s son, elder brother to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Lucius his American wife, Marie had two sons. He’d not met the children, but they’d likely be Georgiana’s age, more or less.

  “I’m afraid the whole family –that is, Lucius, Marie, and their sons – was travelling with Matlock into Germany this last month.”

  “Good God.”

  “Yes, sir. They attended a house party where some of the servants had been ill. No one knew it was typhus until the disease had already spread.”

  “Poor Matlock,” said Darcy absently. He knew his uncle had taken the Colonel’s death especially hard. Perhaps it was a mercy on his soul, to be taken at the same time as his other son and grandsons. “Is it absolutely certain? Is there some chance he’s still travelling in another part of the country?”

  “No, sir,” said Weatherby regretfully. “His valet had enough wits about him to get the ambassador to confirm the Earl's identity before the facility interred the remains. They could not allow his body to be returned, you see, given the nature of the disease.”

  “Of course,” murmured Darcy. “I suppose someone will have to orchestrate the funeral nonetheless.”

  “The earl left explicit instructions as to that, my lord,” said Weatherby. “Lady Catherine has been informed accordingly. I believe there is to be only a small private ceremony.”

  Darcy nodded.

  Weatherby selected a sheet from the folio and passed it to Darcy.

  “Mr. Darcy, it is incumbent upon me to tell you that your uncle, the Earl of Matlock, requested the addition of a remainder to his title. This request was granted some years ago by His Highness King George III; specifically, in the event of the death of every male in his direct line, the eldest male child of either of his sisters would inherit the title. So you see,” said
Weatherby. There he stopped.

  “See what?”

  “As you are the only male remaining to fit this description, is my most solemn honor to inform you that you are to be named Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, the ninth Earl of Matlock.”

  Darcy sat.

  The title was to have been passed to Lucius. If he and his heirs had perished by plague, there was no one else to inherit.

  No male heirs left, save himself.

  The paper before him was signed by Matlock himself and his chief solicitor, a name Darcy recognized by reputation, addressed from London. It detailed the Fitzwilliam line, listing Lucius’s eldest son as the heir. Except the one remaining Darcy offshoot.

  His mother had always wished for more children, besides himself and his sister.

  “Are you quite well, sir?”

  Darcy nodded, still yet unable to speak.

  “Then with your permission, I’ll continue.” Darcy nodded again. Weatherby selected a thick stack of papers from the folio. “This is the complete list of Matlock’s present interests, holdings, and properties.”

  “Nothing was to be awarded outside the estate? No gifts to servants? Anything of that nature?” asked Darcy. He knew firsthand how complicated such an arrangement might become, and certainly stranger things had happened with bequests.

  “No, sir,” said Weatherby. “After the Colonel’s death, Matlock made very specific instruction as to who might stand to inherit. This is the estate in its entirety, although several of the investments have separate files. You’ll have access to any additional information whenever you should require it.”

  Darcy had not been acquainted with the earl as an adult. He’d been introduced as a child; any potential heir would need to be kept nearby – neither branch of his family tree took their honor lightly and tended its maintenance with alacrity – and Pemberley was not so far from Matlock itself. He remembered the grand house and rolling fields, though Darcy suspected the passage of twenty years would have changed the place somewhat. When Lucius had married, Matlock no longer needed to keep Darcy so close by and the childhood visits all but stopped. When Lucius produced not one son but two, there had been no need for Darcy to concern himself whatsoever with any particulars of a title and estate that almost surely would not pass into his realm of responsibility.

  Yet despite all indications to the contrary, here he was.

  The Earl of Matlock.

  “Has my sister been informed?”

  “With your permission, sir, I have a letter prepared to send her. My instructions were to reach you first.”

  Darcy was glad of it. It was a big enough shock as was; he’d need time before facing his sister’s questions.

  Good Lord. If Georgiana wasn’t already marriageable in the eyes of Society, she certainly would be now. Her options would have been plenty, with the dowry provided by their mother and father. The sister of an earl, however – that brought social strata the likes of which even they had not seen.

  “Good,” said Darcy. “Send it on. What must I do?”

  “I have some papers that require your signature.”

  The next hour was spent thusly and when Weatherby left at last, Darcy sat alone.

  He acknowledged his grief for his uncle; the man he’d known as a child had been stern, but kind. Fitzwilliam and Lucius would be missed but life would not wait long for his sorrow to pass. There would be a ceremony, and the accompanying social functions. Darcy found paper in a nearby drawer and began to make notes about what must be done. When a servant knocked some time later, his list had grown extensively.

  “A letter for you, sir,” said the servant.

  “At this time of day?”

  “The messenger just left, sir,” said the servant. “Do you wish to speak with him? Shall I have him stopped?”

  “No, let him go. Please tell Mr. Bingley I shall dine with his family at the usual time,” said Darcy. The servant bowed and left.

  Already Darcy recognized the sender’s hand. If his aunt already knew of Matlock’s passing, his list would be growing exponentially by the end of reading that letter.

  Chapter 6

  My dear Fitzwilliam,

  By now you will have been informed of poor Matlock’s fate, and that of Lucius and his family.

  Your time has come, nephew. I honor the passing of our kinsmen and will remember them fondly. But you have come into a position of which few are ever worthy, and it pleases me to say that fewer still deserve it more than yourself.

  You are to be honored by the highest in the land, Fitzwilliam. Let me charge you with all the force of my own blessed standing to remember your family. Remember your honorable mother and father, as dear to me still as two people can ever be. Remember all they taught you about the importance of family and our family name.

  With that in mind, and with your impending ascent, I charge you to think very seriously about your next steps. As last in the line of Matlock, you are now responsible for not only maintaining that good name, but for ensuring its progenation. I have not seen the need to mention this subject before now but it is time you turn a serious eye to matrimony.

  It is my very great privilege to offer to serve as your own dear mother would have done in assisting you with so great an undertaking. The selection of one’s partner in life is surely the single most important choice of our time on this earth.

  You already know it was your mother’s wish that a union might be formed between yourself and your cousin, our own Anne. She is of marriageable age and will inherit all of my own considerable estate one day. I entreat you to consider this option before we meet. Your mother would have wanted it so.

  I am conscious that you will have duties to attend; therefore I will not expect to see you before the 25th of ____. Do not delay your visit. There is much to be done.

  * * *

  C—de Burgh

  * * *

  Lady Catherine would indeed have to wait, thought Darcy. His itemized list sat untouched alongside her letter, seeming to drift somehow farther away from him where he sat.

  His aunt did have a point. Marriage would make this entire transition easier; that is, marriage to the right woman. As earl, Darcy would have more choice of potential brides than ever before. The right kind of woman would be indispensable in helping him assume his new position in society.

  With this in mind he began to seriously consider Lady Catherine’s offer of help, disregarding her comments his cousin Anne. It was well-known family lore that his mother, Lady Anne, had once wished a union between her son and Catherine’s daughter. As that wish was supposed to have been made when he and his cousin were both in cradles, Darcy did not feel obliged to uphold it. His parents had married for love themselves; rumor had it that even Lady Catherine had loved her husband once, some time before he died.

  Darcy was not so foolish as to think that love would assuage all his pending complications but he was also not so unromantic as to strike the possibility of finding it altogether.

  The earldom would set a level of expectation regarding his marriage, however, and that fact could not be ignored. He would do well to take Lady Catherine’s offer of help seriously.

  Darcy spent the remainder of the afternoon making notes and writing still more letters to his sister and his steward at Pemberley. He would need to delegate a great deal of his responsibilities there, an idea he did not relish. Pemberley had been his family for generations and it gave him the deepest sense of well-earned pride to care for it to the best of his considerable ability.

  The bell rang for dinner before he was thoroughly prepared to face his friends. His absence all afternoon required an explanation; social obligations besides, Darcy would hear what Bingley would say. Bingley might be an idle sort, but his character was of the highest order and his heart was generous, often to a fault. He would have a reasonable opinion, perhaps even an idea, on the subject of finding Darcy a wife.

  Darcy was seated next to Miss Elizabeth, an event which just a few hou
rs ago would have assumed paramount import in his mind. After Weatherby’s news, it was instead a welcome balm to the turmoil of the day.

  “You were away most of the day. I do hope everything’s alright,” said Miss Elizabeth once they’d been seated.

  Darcy did not immediately reply, raising his glass to study it as though he’d never seen one before. She waited patiently for his answer.

  “I’m not quite certain how to answer you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. Bingley was seated at Miss Elizabeth’s other side and heard this exchange.

  “Are you well, Darcy? I hope you’re not taking ill, too,” he said. Bingley’s well-modulated voice carried in the dining room; the table went silent on the instant, compelling Darcy to answer at once.

  “No, Bingley, I am quite well. Please, everyone, I assure you. Do not be alarmed. I am well.” Darcy answered the looks of alarm from the room at large. He deduced now to be as good a time as any to share his news. If Lady Catherine already knew, the earldom would become common knowledge in society soon enough anyway.

  “I have had word that my uncle, the Earl of Matlock, was taken by disease while visiting Germany this last month.”

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I am so very sorry,” said Miss Bingley, unaffected sincerity in her voice.

  “Thank you, Miss Bingley, but there’s more to it, I’m afraid,” said Darcy. “Traveling with him was his eldest son and heir, Lucius Fitzwilliam, along with Lucius’s wife and their two sons. All were caught up by the disease.”

  “Good God,” said Bingley.

  “But doesn’t that—” said Mrs. Hurst.

  “His heir,” said Miss Bingley. “You cannot mean—”

  “Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Hurst. “Do you mean to say you have just got yourself titled?”