A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

  The last wedding Elizabeth had attended – her sister Mary’s – had been rendered long and uncomfortable by the extensive preaching of a very disagreeable rector, who was unfortunately now Mary’s father-in-law. This ceremony thankfully made no deviation from the common prayer-book, and as such went the expected length in the usual, pleasant Anglican form.

  When it came time for his part in the ceremony, Jean-Charles Durand bore the rings solemnly. Elizabeth worried at first that this solemnness was because he did not approve of the event, but this worry dissipated entirely when Jean-Charles went to hand his almost-stepfather the ring for his mother’s finger. Edward crouched down and smiled at him, and the boy smiled back and carefully placed the ring in Edward’s hand. No, it seemed the solemnness was over the import of his duty.

  Still, Elizabeth thought, they would be a strange family. Jean-Charles would someday have to learn of the strangeness of his familial connexions, that his cousin Matthew had been made a baronet for his victory over the ship commanded by Jean-Charles’s father, a victory that had resulted in his father’s death. He would grow up knowing Edward as his father – he was of too young an age to remember much of his real father, even if that father had not often been away at sea. And if he was to have a younger brother, he would likely see that brother inherit an earldom, unless his step-uncle remarried and fathered a son. Georgiana had not thought this likely, when she had come to Stradbroke shortly after Alice’s death, and Elizabeth agreed with her assessment.

  Jean-Charles could not be pitied too tremendously, for he would at least inherit some portion of his mother’s 80,000 pounds, although the size of the portion was as-yet undetermined. Darcy had indicated that the marriage contract was exceedingly complex, and contingent upon whether a son was born of the union and that son inherited the earldom and the estate. Whether that event occurred or not, Jean-Charles’s mother had ensured he remained protected, something all of the Fitzwilliams, particularly Edward, had thought right and proper to do. So while the contract had been complex, it had been easily enough negotiated.

  They all rose, when the ceremony was completed, and waited as the servants returned the vast old table and chairs to their positions without so much as a scrape on the flagstone floor. As they stood together and watched the remainder of the setup for the wedding breakfast, Darcy murmured to his wife: “I must admit there is a portion of me that thought I would never see Edward marry.”

  “I think he is a bit of what you described last night – not a rake, of course, but a flirt who will now devote himself to one woman. And she is quite an exceptional woman.”

  “Yes, she is indeed. I suppose it took an exceptional woman for me, as well.”

  “It took an exceptional man for me, although I might have done better to realise it sooner.”

  “I might have done better in my flirtation, as you noted last night.”

  “You did very well with it last night. Too well, perhaps.”

  Lady Ellen invited them to sit, which Elizabeth thought was likely for the best, as it precluded the Darcys’s conversation from continuing on such a topic in company. Marguerite Fitzwilliam had been given the head of the table, and Edward one of the seats beside her, but beyond this, no attempt at precedence was made, nor did they attempt to use the entirety of the very long table. They all simply seated themselves as they pleased near Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

  The informality of the seating arrangements was very well counterbalanced by the medieval formality of the space. For everyday use, Elizabeth preferred the lighter decor of the drawing-room, but enjoyed this as a novel change; there was something very appealing to her about dining where so many generations of Fitzwilliams must have done so.

  Lord Brandon rose from the midst of the table, a place he must not have been accustomed to, so that he could give a toast. He was generally a quiet man, but spoke eloquently when he chose to, and he did so now. Elizabeth raised her glass and looked down the table at the newlyweds, happy for so many reasons that she had convinced Darcy to let her and the boys come with him on this journey.

  +++

  If there was one thing Elizabeth would have wished for during her visit to Stradbroke, it was that she have a better chance to get to know Marguerite Fitzwilliam. In the few days they had left before the Darcys were to move on to Rosings, she did have a few opportunities to sit in company with only Marguerite and Lady Ellen following dinner, but Mrs. Fitzwilliam generally took that perquisite of a new bride – to spend as much time alone with her husband as she wished – and Elizabeth could not begrudge her this.

  Their time together was enough, however, for Elizabeth to feel that with more time a friendship would form between the two of them, and she thought to invite Marguerite and Edward to Pemberley at some time during the summer. The couple had decided to keep her house in Lynn and divide their time between that place and their familial home, and with Edward having resigned his commission, they would have little occupation aside from managing their fortune and keeping house, so it seemed visiting would appeal to them once sufficient time had passed in their new marriage.

  Elizabeth mentioned this to them before she and Darcy went out to their waiting carriage, and found her invitation eagerly accepted. The couples promised to correspond to find dates that would be amenable to all of them, and then Elizabeth and Darcy said their good-byes and went out to the carriage, to make the short journey to that place Elizabeth would have wished to avoid, but for Charlotte Collins.

  Chapter 24

  Catherine Ramsey lived most of her days in a sort of somewhat-contained irritation, which existed as the result of numerous conversations such as the one she was having with her mother presently:

  “I simply do not see why I cannot be spared a hundred pounds or so to redecorate the drawing-room. We spent far more per year on the upkeep of all of you girls, when you were living at home. If we do not spend it on you, it is available to spend on the drawing-room,” said Mrs. Bennet. Then she eyed her fourth-eldest daughter with suspicion. “Unless you have come here seeking support – seeking to draw on us. Is that why you have come here, Kitty?”

  “No, we have not come to Longbourn for that purpose. I assure you, Captain Ramsey and I have ample income to support ourselves, mama,” Catherine said. She wished to add, but did not, that they were also able to live within their income – which was not so dependent on the weather – and presently, she would much rather they had remained at Bath, where they could enjoy said income.

  “Well, good! At least that is settled. Now, Mr. Bennet and I have two thousand a year, and no daughters to spend it on. So I still do not see why I cannot spend some little of it on my drawing-room, which has become so faded and outdated over the years.”

  “Because, mama, there is not like to be two thousand a year from Longbourn this year, or anything near it,” Catherine said. She proceeded – again – to explain to her mother what would happen if the harvest failed, even some portion of it. Most of her father’s tenants would not be able to meet their rents, and an understanding landlord could only agree to some postponement of payment. Some would eventually pay what they owed, but it might be years later, and it must be expected that some would never be able to fully pay what they owed.

  There were certain concepts, however, which Mrs. Bennet was wholly immune from understanding. One longstanding example was the entail on Longbourn, but it seemed the potential failure of the estate’s crops was to be another. Catherine had attempted to explain it so many times she had lost count, but Andrew and Mr. Bennet had also made their own attempts, and it was not to be understood by the estate’s mistress.

  “So I am to retain this!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, waving her hands about the drawing-room. “I am to retain this, and Lady Lucas’s drawing-room completely redone last year. How am I ever to have anyone to call here?”

  Ah, now this was something Catherine could work with. Clearly there had been some reason why her mother had clung obstinately to this redecoration scheme, and
Catherine wished she had attempted to dig up the root sooner.

  “Perhaps for a year or so, mama, but think on what will happen if you redecorate a few years after Lady Lucas. Your drawing-room will always be the more modern, until she can finally redecorate hers again, and I do not think the Lucases have the income to do so any time soon. They certainly have not been so successful at marrying their daughters off as you have, mama.”

  There were any number of appealing things for Catherine’s mother in this statement. It flattered her primary accomplishment in life, at seeing all her daughters, save poor Lydia, married off to men of incomes ranging from a little over a thousand pounds a year to better than ten thousand a year. It also indicated some future, long-term superiority over Lady Lucas that she would not have previously considered.

  Mrs. Bennet grew as contemplative as Mrs. Bennet ever did. “Well – hmm – I suppose there is something in what you say, Kitty.”

  “It took a lot of work on your part, mama, to see your daughters to such good positions. No-one would blame you for spending a little time in rest, before any new undertaking.” Catherine could hardly believe she was saying such a thing: she and Andrew had met in town while she had been staying with the Darcys, and he had never even met her parents until he had gone to Longbourn to ask Mr. Bennet for her hand; Mary’s marriage had similarly had little involvement from her mother in coming about. If Mrs. Bennet would be flattered into a change of mind by this, however, Catherine would flatter away.

  “I did work long and hard on you girls, to ensure you were of a marriageable sort, and then to provide you with opportunities to meet eligible men.”

  “Yes, you did. You worked very hard, mama, and I am amazed you are not more worn down by it. And then you have been travelling so much, to see your grandchildren.”

  “Oh yes! To Derbyshire is not an easy journey, at my age!”

  “And a drawing-room is so important. I do not have one of my own – yet – but I think a refurbishment of such a room is not something I would want to undertake while I was exhausted from other endeavours.”

  “Kitty, my child, now that I think on it, I do feel quite exhausted. It is a wonder I have not had an attack of my nerves – oh, oh, I should not have overburdened myself as I have done.”

  “No, you should not have, but I am sure with a long rest, you will be well again. Let me take you up to your dressing-room, and we will have Hill bring us some tea. Rest is all you need, mama. You should not be worrying over the state of the drawing-room at the detriment of your health.”

  +++

  That evening, Catherine retired to her old room – now shared with her husband, rather than Lydia. She groaned in both frustration and exhaustion, flopped down on the bed, and said, “I think – finally – I have stopped her.”

  “Indeed? That is quite an accomplishment!” Andrew said.

  “Yes,” Catherine said, flatly. “You are only required to save the crops, while I may have prevented the dangerous redecoration of the drawing-room.”

  Andrew chuckled. “Neither of us had an easy task, but I believe mine was more straightforward. Or at the very least, your father is easier to work with.”

  Mr. Bennet had generally lived the life of a gentleman since he had become master of Longbourn, giving his estate only the minimum attention necessary to keep it at its usual income. To his credit, however, in a season where more attention was needed, he had rallied and devoted more effort to his tenants and their crops. It had, perhaps, helped that a young and eager son-in-law had appeared at his home, professing a willingness to help.

  That son-in-law had come with a marine sergeant and a waggonette filled with seamen trailing only a few days behind him, all of them desiring to do whatever they could to help – provided, of course, that they were paid for it. With such trouble gone to for his estate’s preservation, Mr. Bennet could only profess his gratitude, then relief, when Sergeant Barnes and the men under his command had brought about a marked improvement in drainage in many of the fields. They still did not know if it had been enough – what they needed now was sun, in quantities in which it was not presently to be had – but at least they had made their very best effort.

  Catherine sighed. “You know what I would like?”

  “What is it, pretty Cat?”

  “I would like to leave off thinking about either of my parents for the remainder of the night.”

  “And what would you like to think about?”

  “I would like to cease thinking about anything at all. And you are rather good at driving all thought from my mind, Andrew, else I believe I would have gone mad by now.”

  “Well, we cannot have that, can we?” he asked, without any expectation of an answer.

  Chapter 25

  It was to be expected that Lady Catherine did not approve of their having come from Stradbroke. She did, at least, wait until Elizabeth and Mrs. Nichols had taken the twins up to the nursery – in which the occasional whiff of fresh paint could still be smelled – to voice her disapproval. Thus, Elizabeth came back down the stairs to hear from the drawing-room:

  “Not only will you not cut them as you should, you come to my house after witnessing that French whore marry Anne’s betrothed! The least you could do is respect Anne, particularly after what you did to her. You all break your promises to poor Anne. All of you!”

  “Aunt Catherine, there was never a decided betrothal in either case,” Darcy said in a low, even tone, which indicated he was fuming. “And for the Fitzwilliams, things changed after Alice’s death. You know they must secure the succession of the earldom.”

  Elizabeth quietly came in and stood beside him. Lady Catherine acknowledged her with a sniff and a slight narrowing of her eyes.

  “I do not know why everyone thinks Anne cannot bear a healthy son,” Lady Catherine said, glancing over at her daughter, seated on the sofa with Mrs. Jenkinson. Regardless of what Lady Catherine said, Anne did not look capable of bearing a child. If anything, she seemed even paler and thinner than ever, which did make sense, when Elizabeth thought on it. With the wet weather, she could not have been out much in her phaeton, which was her only means of taking any air.

  “Please do not push me on this, aunt. I hope I have made it clear whose side we shall fall on, if it is required that we take sides.”

  “Yes, yes, you have certainly made that clear. It is foolish of you, but you have made that clear. I think it likely they met in a brothel. Soldiers visit brothels, you know, and I am sure there is no shortage of them in Paris.”

  “That is most assuredly not the case, and I hope you are not going to go spreading that about town. You are well aware she is of excellent family.”

  “I shall not, but only for my own reputation and that of my daughter. Even a woman of excellent family might have found herself in such a situation after all those peasants forgot their place. She brought little fortune to the match, so she must have had some way of earning her living.”

  “Oh, no, she has eighty thousand pounds, which I dare say is rather more than can be earned in a brothel,” Elizabeth said, which caused Darcy to look over at his wife with concern.

  The reason for this became immediately clear, for the last thing Lady Catherine had needed was an additional provocation from a woman she had not been on entirely pleasant terms with since Elizabeth had married Darcy.

  “I am sure you must be mistaken as to her fortune, and moreover I do not need to hear from you on the subject, Mrs. Darcy, when it was you who caused Anne’s first engagement to be broken. I suppose you are going to go swaggering about, now that you have produced your heir and spare,” said Lady Catherine coolly, looking over her niece-in-law as though inspecting her and looking to find fault. Unfortunately for that lady, Sarah Kelly had been even more ambitious on her mistress’s behalf since being called into the breakfast-room by Mr. Darcy, and no fault could be found in either her mistress’s hair or dress, even by someone desperately seeking it.

  “I assure you,
I have no such intentions,” Elizabeth said, then wishing to diffuse the situation as much as she could, “Mr. Darcy, I had thought to call on the Collinses. Would you care to join me?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy, but I believe I will have a look at the estate’s books. I shall not have much time to do so, as this visit will be of very short duration.”

  +++

  The day being cloudy, but without a particular threat of rain, Elizabeth walked to the parsonage by herself, feeling a little strange to be going in this direction, rather than what she had been used to from her previous stay in Kent. Strange, too, to be walking the lanes where she had met Darcy and Edward, now that she was married to Darcy and had just come from Edward’s wedding, both events she never would have expected to attend after her last visit here.

  Mr. Collins was in his garden, and waved exuberantly when he saw her, then bowed as deeply as he might have if she had been Queen Charlotte. “Mrs. Darcy, how delightful of you to condescend to visit us so soon after your arrival! Charlotte will be so pleased, and our humble abode will be honoured by your august presence.”

  Elizabeth halted, looking at him incredulously. Once, he had lectured her that she might not ever receive another offer of marriage, and although he could not know the tumultuous history of the offers that had made her Mrs. Darcy, her status as such seemed to give her every bit of the import in Mr. Collins’s mind that Darcy held. Elizabeth feared he would wish to come in with her, ingratiating himself and delaying any opportunity for private conversation with Charlotte, so she said:

  “I shall be pleased to see her as well, but I assure you, it is no condescension. Your garden is looking well, Mr. Collins, but pray do not let me pull you away from it. I am sure you must have few opportunities to spend time here, with such rain as we have had this season.”