The Pemberley Affair

by Charity McColl

  That night, when they had retired for bed, she brought Fitzwilliam up to date on what she had learned about Mr. Cavendish.

  “A poet!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed. “No wonder his father has disinherited him.”

  “You don’t mean that? I agree that it’s perhaps not quite as suitable as the clergy or the army, but still, there’s no harm in it.”

  “Nor is there an income in it,” Fitzwilliam retorted. “Poets have a very bad reputation and while young Cavendish hardly looks the debauched sort, it’s not an occupation calculated to bring honor to the family name. Lord Edgerton might have found another way to handle it, however.”

  “Then you think I should inform Caroline of the relationship?”

  “I should think so. If it were our daughter, and we were depending upon the judgment of another in a situation of this sort, we would want to know. A poet!”

  “You sound as if he had taken to becoming a highwayman or a gambler,” Elizabeth said, a trifle annoyed that Fitzwilliam was so adamantly opposed to the young man’s choice of profession when he apparently had no other marks against his character.

  “If he had,” Fitzwilliam answered, “there would at least be the prospect of an income!”

  It was, certainly, an outrageous remark and he regretted it as soon as he spoke. Elizabeth turned on her side, her back to him, in what he realized was the classic marital response to disharmony in the bedroom. He turned onto his side as well, irritated with Lady Descartes, who had, in his view, introduced the issue in the first place.

  But the next day, Elizabeth received a note sent by Caroline. Thomas had taken a turn for the worst and Caroline feared that matters were very grave indeed. She felt that if he did not improve by the week’s end, it would be time for Tommy to return home.

  Their quarrel forgotten, Elizabeth relayed the news to Fitzwilliam that afternoon. The girls were on their way to Vauxhall Gardens under the eagle-eyed chaperonage of Lady Dalton, who, now that her own children were grown, enjoyed the opportunity to shepherd young people on outings. They would be staying the night at Lady Dalton’s, providing the Darcys with what had become a rare night on their own.

  “I rather imagine that Mr. Cavendish will show up at Vauxhall Gardens,” Elizabeth said, “but surely, if Tommy is likely to be summoned home at week’s end, it hardly matters if they encounter one another in the remaining days.”

  “Perhaps not. I’ve asked about young Cavendish. He appears to have nothing against him except his choice of profession and his utter lack of income. He is apparently earning his keep now tutoring students over the summer.”

  “Surely he should be commended for making his own way and not running up debts that he cannot pay.”

  “He would be wiser to obtain a commission,” Fitzwilliam declared. “Soldiers are not forbidden to write poetry.”

  “I think that, as a poet, Mr. Cavendish has a gentle, and not a martial, spirit,” she answered delicately.

  “I have yet to hear anyone comment upon Lord Byron’s delicacy of spirit.”

  Despite herself, Elizabeth laughed. Fitzwilliam was relieved that the coolness of the previous night had disappeared. Quarrels were one thing, but to argue over a matter which did not directly involve them seemed a waste of energy.

  “Is Lord Descartes really so badly off?”

  “The estate is not doing well; expectations are that the harvest will not recoup their financial losses. Lord Descartes himself was not extravagant, but this situation in France has caused financial problems for many families. The Edgertons are in better straits, but with four sons and two daughters, they have financial demands which must be met as well. I agree that young Cavendish is not a villain, but he is impractical if he thinks that being a poet will allow him to provide for a wife.”

  “Except for Mr. Cavendish, Tommy has not had a successful Season,” Elizabeth disclosed. They were enjoying a leisurely luncheon and with no pressing errands and no social engagements, the day had taken on a relaxed appeal that felt somewhat like the days at Pemberley. “If Mr. Cavendish is not present, she is not sought after as a dance partner. I’m afraid the young men think her rustic.”

  “She is not polished,” Fitzwilliam said, pouring more wine into his wife’s glass and filling his own. “For a man seeking a wife who can manage his household and his family, that is a serious omission.”

  “Georgiana is actually more at ease than Tommy seems to be,” agreed her brother.

  “Yes, but I think some of that aplomb has come from her friendship with Tommy.”

  “Perhaps you are right. I’m simply glad that Georgiana has come out of her shell and that she seems to have no interest in marrying any of the young men she has met.”

  “Do you think she is too wary?”

  “Because of Wickham? Perhaps. I think she is wise.”

  “Eventually,” Elizabeth said, phrasing her words with care, “she will need to forget Wickham and find out what it is to lose her heart.”

  “Eventually.”

  “In the meantime, we must find a way for Lord Edgerton to allow his son to become a poet so that Tommy can marry him,” Elizabeth said decisively.

  “We,” her husband intoned, “have no such obligation. We are not Lady Thomasina’s parents and it is not up to us to solve the romantic quandaries of another woman’s daughter. We have surmounted our own; that does not make us rescuers.”

  Which sounded very astute, Elizabeth reflected, for a man of wealth and substance who had resisted falling in love for so long. But for a young couple who might only be suited for one another, it was insufficient.

  “We,” Fitzwilliam said, “have our own matters to attend to. It occurs to me that this might be an opportune time to try for an heir of our own.”

  Elizabeth’s lovely eyes widened in genuine disbelief. “In the afternoon?” she inquired. “What if we have callers?”

  “We are not at home,” he replied, standing up and holding out his hand.

  “I cannot think—“

  “I am not asking you to think,” he answered. His tone of voice sounded no different than at any other time, but it was so unlike him to seek such spontaneity that Elizabeth remained seated, staring up at her husband as if he had taken leave of his senses.

  “Fitzwilliam, we have—“

  “Nothing that must be done. I remind you,” he said sternly, with only a faint glint in his eye revealing that he was joking, “that the provision of an heir is one of the duties incumbent upon a woman. Only think of how knowledgeable we shall be when we are parents who must consider their offspring’s matrimonial prospects.”

  A Summons

  The note from Caroline arrived on Friday; Lord Descartes had improved vastly and was now eating and sitting up in bed. There was no need for Tommy to cut the Season short and return home. Caroline added a note of heartfelt thanks as she wrote that her daughter seemed to be having a wonderful Season and she was eternally grateful to the Darcys for allowing her daughter to stay with them at this time.

  With Lord Descartes mending and Caroline’s attention concentrated on him, Elizabeth felt that she could not cause them worry. Fitzwilliam declared that if he had a daughter who had fallen in love with a poet, he would certainly enter into a decline, so he could not argue with Elizabeth’s decision. There was still the likelihood that His Lordship’s health would turn again and, in that case, Tommy would need to be able to return home.

  “What’s the matter?” Elizabeth asked as Fitzwilliam fell suddenly silent.

  “My Aunt,” he replied dully, handing her the envelope he had opened.

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the imperious woman who had advised Fitzwilliam Darcy, her sister’s son, against marrying Elizabeth Bennet, had not yet made a second visit to Pemberley to visit them, an omission which Elizabeth admitted to herself brought relief. Lady Catherine regarded Elizabeth as undeserving of the honor of being married to a Darcy. Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he would make his own decisions in the matter o
f marriage, and he had done so, but, inevitably, the bonds of family, as well as friendship required that they come to some sort of amenable accord – Mr. Collins, who had sought Elizabeth’s hand in marriage until she refused him, whereupon he offered his hand to Elizabeth’s dear friend, Charlotte Lucas, who accepted him, served as a clergyman for the church in Lady Catherine’s village.

  “Is she coming to London?”

  “Read it.”

  My dear Nephew,

  I am shocked to discover that you and your wife – you will remember that I warned you against marrying her – are allowing your houseguest, herself the daughter of an actress, to bring disgrace upon your family. The actress’ daughter has been seen, without supervision, in the company of a young man who has been cast off by his family. I am shocked that you would treat your sister’s marital prospects in such a cavalier manner. I blame this upon your reckless insistence on marrying a woman of low birth. It’s very clear to me that the Pemberley Set has led you astray—”

  There was no reason to read the rest of it. Elizabeth placed the letter on the table. “I am aware that your aunt does not care for me. What concerns me is what she says about Tommy having been seen without supervision. When the girls are not with me, they are with someone – Lady Dalton, or someone else – who chaperones them.”

  “Perhaps we had better find out for sure. You did not read the rest of the letter. She is on her way to Pemberley.”

  “But we are not at Pemberley!”

  “I believe that she intends for us to return.”

  “In truth,” Elizabeth confessed, “I would like to return, at least for a short time. I’m enjoying the Season, I truly am, but I’m homesick for Pemberley. Even if it means hosting your aunt, I think a visit to Pemberley would be quite welcome.”

  “Are you sure? What about Tommy?”

  “We’ll take her with us. If we’re going home for a visit anyway, why not make an event of it? Let’s invite Charles and Jane to join us. And it would be good to see Charlotte, even if it means seeing Mr. Collins as well.”

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes gleamed. “The Pemberley Set,” he said. “Such an assembly, to be sure.”

  Elizabeth laughed but, the next day, when she broke the news to Tommy and Georgiana, she was alarmed at Tommy’s reaction. Tommy didn’t want to leave London.

  “You mean that you do not wish to leave Mr. Cavendish,” Elizabeth said astutely.

  They were in the morning room, a bright room that was filled with sunshine. It was Elizabeth’s favorite room in the London house – a room she retreated to when she needed to be alone with her thoughts, or when she was wrestling with a matter that required insight and privacy.

  To Elizabeth’s surprise, Tommy’s large brown eyes filled with tears. “Mrs. Darcy, I love him!” she exclaimed. “He loves me as well.”

  “Have you told your mother?”

  Tommy shook her head and sniffed loudly. Elizabeth handed her a handkerchief. “My dear Tommy, if you love him, you must let your parents know.”

  “Papa has been so ill, and if he finds out that Philip’s father has cut him off, there is no way that he will allow Philip to pay his addresses.”

  “Tommy,” Elizabeth began gently, “there are certain requirements which marriage must honor, and they are very often not at all romantic. Without an income, how on earth could the two of you manage?”

  “Philip is a poet,” Tommy said. “He’s quite good, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Perhaps he is. But poetry is not a promising livelihood.”

  “If his father would take him back, it would not matter. He would be part of the family again and we could marry.”

  Tommy made it sound so simple. She was in love, and Philip loved her. Elizabeth felt sympathetic; they were two people who were best suited for one another, even as young as they were. Could she deny Tommy her dream, when Elizabeth had been blessed to marry for love? Could Caroline deny her daughter the same opportunity that she had had with Lord Descartes?

  Georgiana, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up. “Philip is very kind, Lizzie. I don’t know if Lord Edgerton could be convinced to bring him back into the family, if everyone were gathered together and obliged to be civil for the sake of appearances?”

  “It’s no use!” Tommy cried out. “Lord Edgerton will never accept me. My mother was an actress; Lord Edgerton is never going to accept me.”

  Elizabeth sighed. There were many obstacles to overcome. Georgiana’s observations seemed to be disconnected, but Elizabeth recognized that her sister-in-law was responding not just to her friend, but to her recollection of the episode with George Wickham as well.

  “We shall see what we can do,” she said. “But Tommy . . . you have been seen in Mr. Cavendish’s company without a chaperone. What on earth were you thinking?”

  “We meant no harm. We just . . . met.”

  “By chance?” Elizabeth inquired skeptically.

  “The first time, yes,” Tommy said evasively.

  Georgiana looked surprised. “Tommy, you must promise not to do that ever again. If you are going to convince Mr. Cavendish’s family that you are a respectable woman, you must avoid anything that compromises your reputation. You know that I speak from experience.”

  It was not easy for Georgiana to refer to the experience that had marred her youth. Her brother had rescued her from the consequences of her error in judgment, but the situation could easily have ended otherwise, just as Lydia’s elopement could have ruined her. Fitzwilliam had averted that disaster as well.

  “We shall invite Mr. Cavendish to join us at Pemberley,” Elizabeth decided. “We may be able to find a solution if we are all together.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Darcy, thank you!” Tommy rushed to Elizabeth’s side. “Thank you! I know that you will think of a solution.”

  “But you must tell your mother,” Elizabeth directed. “You can tell her that you are in love. She will have questions that you must answer honestly, but they deserve an answer. There must be no more subterfuge.”

  “I shall tell Philip—”

  “Tommy, the invitation must come from Mr. Darcy and me. We must take care to conduct ourselves with the utmost propriety. Lady Catherine de Bourgh will expect no less.”

  “Aunt Catherine! What has she to do with any of this?” Georgiana asked, aghast at the mention of her aunt’s name.

  “She is going to Pemberley.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she has informed your brother that ‘The Pemberley Set’ is bringing ruination upon the Darcy family.”

  “‘The Pemberley Set’?” Georgiana did not disguise her bewilderment. “What on earth is ‘The Pemberley Set’?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth said lightly, “but I’m sure that she will be most zealous in her efforts to tell us.”

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh

  Knowing that Jane and Charles were coming to Pemberley eased the anxiety of knowing that Lady Catherine would be arriving the next day. There was some consolation in the fact that Charlotte would be joining them, with, of course, her husband, the obsequious Mr. Collins. Elizabeth went over the menus with Mrs. Reynolds, who was enthusiastic at the prospect of having a house full of guests. They went over the guest list to make sure that all of the rooms would be read for their occupants. Mrs. Reynolds managed the household with efficiency and foresight, so there would be no problem in preparing the house for company at such short notice.

  Fitzwilliam, who had spent the day riding over the grounds to check on the property and consult with the tenants, returned late in the afternoon with the announcement that he had spied Lady Catherine’s carriage en route.

  “There is no pleasing Aunt,” he said. “I do not wish for you to feel that you must exceed reasonable efforts.”

  Elizabeth smiled gratefully at her husband. “Thank you. I feel as if we are about to convene a meeting of adversaries.”

  “As long as you and I are in accord,” he answered, kissing her, “I have no doubt
that we can conquer our adversaries. Because they are our adversaries.”

  It was his way, she knew, of affirming his choice of her as his wife and she had no doubt that he would make that point as emphatically as necessary to his aunt. But Lady Catherine was by her nature impervious to any viewpoint but her own. She was coming to Pemberley, Elizabeth knew, to assert her influence on events which she regarded as perilous for the family reputation.

  Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were at the door to greet her when she arrived, William and Charlotte Collins standing dutifully behind her. Lady Catherine began to issue her instructions to the footmen regarding the placement of her luggage as she entered Pemberley House.

  “Fitzwilliam,” she said, affixing her gaze to him.

  “Aunt,” he said with his customary courtesy which, as Elizabeth knew, allowed him to remain aloof in situations that he perceived as troublesome.

  “I am glad that you responded to my letter by returning to Pemberley.”

  “Elizabeth and I had been discussing the notion of coming home for a short stay,” he said easily. “Naturally, when we received your letter, we could think of no better time to welcome you along with others of the Pemberley Set.” His tone betrayed not the slightest intonation of irony.

  Lady Catherine halted. “You have guests?”

  “They’re joining us this week, yes. We are delighted to welcome all of you.”

  “Who is coming?” she demanded.

  “The Bingleys, and Mr. Cavendish,” he said. “Lady Thomasina is here already; she returned with us.”

  “Lady Thomasina? You mean that you have not sent her home yet?”

  “She is in our care during the Season,” said Elizabeth. “Her father has been ill. Charlotte, it’s delightful to see you. We’re so glad that you were able to come. Mr. Collins, thank you for coming. Let me show you to your rooms so that you can rest before we dine.”

  “Mr. Cavendish!” interrupted Lady Catherine. “You have welcomed a disinherited son into your home? Have you given thought to what this could do to Georgiana’s prospects?”