A Summer Shame (2 page)

"Mr. Darcy, I cannot. Let me hold her."

"You both need your rest. Take the bed, it is easier to stay put there than in that cot." He helped the ladies to the mattress and donned his coat.

"Where—where are you going?" Elizabeth begged, fear notched in every syllable.

"I must go to the deck and see what help I may provide. I am able bodied and not inept at sailing."

"No! Please, do not go out there. I shall worry too, too much." Elizabeth was frantic, seizing Lydia's crying form even tighter. Mr. Darcy clasped her hand and held it in both of his own, squeezing with a tender firmness he hoped would find it's way to her terrified heart. He leaned over to kiss it before giving a farewell.

"I must madame. Pray with your sister. We could all use it."

Elizabeth complied, blinking to release her own silent tears down her cheeks. She settled back into the bed and kept her arms around Lydia. To her surprise, Lydia's shaky voice broke the silence not long after Mr. Darcy left the cabin.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven . . ."

Elizabeth joined in and after a few rounds, exhaustion led the sisters to fall asleep as the storm began to subside.

In London, Jane Bennet stalled for time while packing her trunk in preparation to reside at Matlock House for the last four weeks of the Season. Where she would go after, she did not know, but she was almost certain it would be wherever Lady Matlock felt it best.

"Ooh, Jane, you must take this dress. It looks stunning on you!"

"Mama, I told you I am not to bring any dresses from home. I spent all day at the modiste and have a wonderful, Lady Matlock approved wardrobe. It would not do to anger her while she assists us."

Mrs. Bennet frowned. The widow's feeling smarted at being ignored by the woman who'd taken the care of her girls as a personal mission. Oh, it was quite alright for Lady Matlock to champion Elizabeth and Mary, Mrs. Bennet's least favorite daughters, but quite another for her to interfere with Lydia and now her poor Jane.

"But Mr. Bingley made such an effort to compliment this shade of blue when you wore it last. Yes, yes, you must take this dress to keep him happy." Mrs. Bennet carried the dress over to fold it as if it were the best silk and put it away.

Jane sighed and gave up. If allowing her mother to pack a few dresses kept her happy, by all means it would be best to concede since Jane had further news her mother would not find welcome.

"Mama, you've been away from your beautiful new home in Meryton for quite some time. Perhaps you and Kitty should return home, make sure the staff are doing all they ought?" Jane tucked a dried rose from her father's garden back into a sachet for her trunk. Elizabeth had her copy of
Hamlet
, but to Jane, she missed the times her father would walk with her in the paths she helped design for planting and even pruned on occasion.

"Oh, I could not possibly leave London now! Not as you are making your grand debut. No, no, I must go with you, Jane, dear, to help guide you as you encourage Mr. Bingley's attentions. Millie is packing my trunks as we speak. It has been some months now since you started courting . . ." Mrs. Bennet trailed off, seeming to become rather alarmed as she considered how long her eldest daughter had remained attached to one man, but not engaged to him. "Have you listened to Mr. Bingley as I have instructed you? Paying him careful attention and displaying your beauty to your advantage? It is odd that he has not yet come to the point . . . I shall invite him over for dinner!"

"No, Mama, I shall not be here to dine. Lady Matlock has a most careful schedule planned for Mary and me; it will maximize our exposure to the most elite members of society." Jane held her breath as she watched her mother ruminate on what she had said. She did not address that her mother had no invitation to Matlock House, knowing her aunt would never allow Fanny Bennet to conduct such a faux pas.

The last thing Jane wanted to tell her mother was of the times Mr. Bingley had come to call on her, she had told the servants to send him away. She planned to tell him it would be best if they acknowledged they were not the right match, but she had yet to determine the best way to deliver the blow.

"That does make sense. Yet, I still do not see how you can finish out the Season without my invaluable guidance. You need me. And I feel bereft and abandoned. First Lizzie marries, and takes Lydia with her, who is to care for me in my old age? I am a poor widow you all wish to send away!" Mrs. Bennet began to wail near the end, resorting to the old theatrics her departed husband always catered.

"Of course not! You must not think this way." Jane reached forward to pat her mother's arm, causing the sniffling woman to pause her act in wonderment. "I am lucky to have Lady Matlock take me under her wing, as is Mary. But poor Kitty! There is none to help her and she needs your guidance before she can handle a London ballroom. They are vicious, Mama," Jane ended in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Kitty! That girl spends too much time covered in ink for any man to take notice of her. Why, all this writing and writing. I swear I do not know what has come over her since your father died and left us penniless."

Jane gritted her teeth behind her plastered smile. Her father had not left them all penniless; in secret, he had invested in their uncle's business to provide for his daughters. He had not provided a largesse for his wife aside from her dowry. "But we must think of Kitty's future. She has a dowry of five thousand pounds now and if she is not prepared, I'm fearful she could fall for a fortune hunter like poor Lydia."

"Wickham! That scoundrel. I never liked him, you know! I was certain in my heart he was not good enough for my dear Lydia, and now look at what's he gone and done! My poor, poor Lydia!" Mrs. Bennet ranged from indignant anger to wails. Jane's shoulders tensed as her eyes searched the door. She prayed none could hear her mother's commotion. The sooner she moved her mother back out to the country, the better they'd all be at keeping the secret from society.

"Mama! Please remember, no one else must know," Jane whispered as she resumed packing. The carriage would be here any moment. "Will you please make plans to return to Meryton? Take Kitty, and why not invite Miss Darcy? She has never had a mother and a summer with your affection would be such a gift."

"I shall think upon it. I will speak with my sister and see how fares my brother's recovery. I could never leave his side as he heals from such a grievous accident." Her mother grazed her hand along the fabric of the pale blue dress she had placed in the trunk, before nodding that she was leaving Jane to her packing.

Jane bowed her head to hide her smile. She had won. If one could see thoughts in another's mind, Jane Bennet was certain her mother planned to ingratiate herself as a mother-like figure to Georgiana as a one-way ticket to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy's grand estate in Derbyshire. And, after talking with her aunt last night, there was no question that the heavy with child Madeline Gardiner wanted her sister-in-law out of her house post haste. For once, it was Mrs. Bennet's nerves aggravating the lady of the house, not the other way around.

An open barouche jostled and bounced its way down the winding path to Starvet House, carrying the party from London relieved at last to be on dry land. Lydia Bennet sat with her back to the driver, so it was Elizabeth who gasped first when she spied the ancient manor home situated on a vista of verdant rocky fields.

“And this—this is only one of your homes?”

“One of our homes, Mrs. Darcy. One of our homes,” Mr Darcy replied with a twinkle in his eye.

Lydia wore a sour face, but soon curiosity bested her restraint. With an audible groan, she crossed her arms and turned in her seat. The grand scale of the home dissipated her desire to quarrel over her well-intentioned captivity. She brightened and asked a dozen questions of Mr. Darcy, much in the style of her mother.

“How many rooms are there? How many servants? Oooh, I bet the ballroom is simply divine!”

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and adjusted his weight next to his wife. His lovely bride took over her sister’s inquisition. “Lyddie, this is not a social visit. I’m afraid you will be quite restricted in your activities.”

“Restricted? But no one knows me out here! I thought that’s why you dragged me along on your wretched wedding trip in the first place!” After a pause, she muttered to herself “Who goes to Scotland for holiday anyway? It is so unfashionable.”

“Miss Lydia, the local populace may not know you, but they and the servants most certainly know me. My family has owned this home for over a hundred years. It is best we keep to a low profile whilst we are in residence. After your condition is improved, we shall return to London and I will be happy to show you the diversions you require.”

Lydia flashed Mr. Darcy a flirtatious smile which made Elizabeth narrow her eyes in jealousy. Would no one check her sister? “Diversions conditional upon your behavior while we visit Starvet House,” she added.

The barouche came to a halt in front of the main oxblood doors, heavy with medieval styling. As the wooden portals creaked open, a team of footmen in plaid livery exited to hand the party down from the equipage. Miss Lydia was handed down first, though she managed to make a face and stick her tongue out at her sister before she accepted assistance. Mr. Darcy moved to exit the barouche to hand down his wife, personally.

For a moment, Elizabeth and William locked eyes, lost in their own world. Elizabeth spotted the years of loneliness melting away from the fine lines near his eyes, and as she offered him a genuine smile, the gentleman returned one with equal delight.

"It is so hot! Must we stand outside in this dust?" Lydia whined.

The spell of arriving home for the first time as husband and wife shattered. The carriages with their trunks began to pollute the air with more dust as they too came to halt behind the barouche. Elizabeth clasped her husband’s arm as he escorted her up the worn, cobbled steps to Starvet House, checking her intense annoyance with her sister lest the servants think her cross.

“Mr. Darcy, so happy to see your safe travels, sir. Oh, Mrs. Darcy, such a pleasure ma’am that you would come to our little corner of Haddington for your wedding trip! Cook has a leg of mutton, your favorite, Mr. Darcy, and your rooms are ready for you to rest.” Mrs. Buchanan fussed over the party on their entry.

“Thank you, Mrs. Buchanan. Miss Lydia shall be retiring to her rooms, but I would like to briefly tour the gardens with Mrs. Darcy. We  would like refreshments delivered in twenty minutes’ time.”

Lydia began to protest, but a Master of Pemberley look from Mr. Darcy immediately limited the girl in her lament. A maid appeared to escort Lydia up the grand staircase and Mr. Darcy led Elizabeth through the home to the back doors.

The glass doors opened onto a relatively wild moor with artificially laid, weather-worn stone paths winding throughout.

“What a curious design! Which path shall we take?” Elizabeth asked as it appeared five different paths ended right where they were standing.

“Those dark grayish rocks will take you to the stables, the lighter gray to the barn. The grassy covered stones lead to the main road and into the village beyond, and the moss covered stones end at the lake. But this one will see us to those bluffs yonder overlooking the sea.”

With a giggle, Elizabeth grabbed Darcy’s hand and started skipping along the path to the bluffs.

“No, Elizabeth, I asked for refreshments, I had planned to show you the stables and barn, and return here for a repast.”

Elizabeth continued to laugh and released his hand to skip ahead. With a quick motion, she untied the ribbon of her bonnet and clutched the offending article in her hand. With her other hand, she released a few pins to allow the tight tresses framing her face to flow freely behind her. The breeze whipped around her to present William with the most pleasing sight of his wife—young, free, and brave.

A few yards ahead, she turned and smiled. “Come, Mr. Darcy. Where is your sense of adventure?”

William took a deep breath and prayed for patience, but ever the dutiful husband, he tarried on after his spirited wife. And if he happened to be smiling while chasing her, it was a demonstration of his newly emerging disposition to be a man lucky in matrimony.

Mrs. Buchanan spied the young couple dashing off through the window and clapped her hands in a small, rapid succession. She had heard it was a love match from Mrs. Kensington, the housekeeper of Darcy House in London, but to see it with her own eyes was a blessing indeed.

“Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw…” she whispered.

“Mrs. Buchanan?” A young maid startled the older woman from her ruminations, causing Mrs. Buchanan to turn around.

“Aye, Anna, what is it?”

“Cook wonders if Mr. and Mrs. Darcy be wanting wine or whiskey with their food?”

“Oh, tell Cook not to bother now but to keep the mutton warm. I suspect they’ll be a little longer.” The older woman smiled at the confused young maid.

Humming a little tune, Mrs. Buchanan absently jingled the keys of the manor as she headed upstairs to check on the young lady who had arrived with the Darcys.

She had a feeling there would be a difficult interview with Mr. Darcy on the morrow and it would be best to learn what she could to avoid showing shock in front of the master. The specific request of employing the services of the local midwife had raised her hopes it was just an early anticipation for a Darcy heir, but this appeared to be an unfortunate situation for all.

The ladies of Matlock House now evenly matched the men and Lady Matlock behaved thrilled at this turn of events. Her home felt warm, bustled with activity, and she avowed to do all in her power to keep it that way even if it meant she would need to marry off one of her sons.

“Now, after the Seftons' tea, we need to rest and dress for the theatre. A dinner follows at Lord and Lady Harrington's home, and Mary, you will be paired most of the evening with their youngest son Alfred. He is a bookish sort of man, but he has a promising career as a barrister ahead of him. Jane, dear, I’d prefer you to seek the attentions of—” A loud door slam interrupted Lady Matlock as she flinched before calmly resuming her instructions. “Cater to the attentions of Viscount Torrington. He owns a large estate in North Umberland, his father passed not two years ago, so expect plenty of competition . . .”

Further shouts and the sound of tinkling glass continued from outside of the parlor where the ladies were taking tea and refreshments. Lady Matlock pressed her lips together in disapproval as she heard her husband’s bombastic voice yelling in tandem with her youngest son's.

“Pardon me,” she said. With a graceful glide, Lady Matlock exited the parlor and closed the door behind her, but the door did not latch, and bounced part of the way open, allowing the voices to waft through clearly.

“Reginald! Richard! Enough! Take this into the study this instant!” she hissed.

“It’s his fault, just look at him Margaret! He’s only arrived this moment, in that state you see before you, after being out all night. He reeks of perfume, I know where’s he been and what he’s been up to!”

Lady Matlock’s understanding dawned and she quickly tried to think of a way to cover the situation before Mary Bennet gathered the particulars. Not all in the house knew the mission her son was upon.

“For the last time, Father, I was looking for Wickham! I wasn’t there for the ladies’ favors, I can tell you that much!”

Hearing the name Wickham in the parlor, Jane could not stop Mary from leaving her chair. Gingerly, the young woman opened the parlor door fully with confusion on her face.

“Why are you still searching for Mr. Wickham? I thought the engagement was officially off and Lydia was in Scotland to help others forget about it?”

“Yes, yes of course she is, dear.” Lady Matlock tried to appease Mary, but could see the young woman’s mind raced through the facts as they presented themselves.

With accusing eyes, Mary turned to Jane who remained sitting serenely, feigning indifference to the argument. “You know! What is it? Why must Mr. Wickham be found?” The pious Mary returned and Jane’s smile wobbled into a frown.

Jane tried to speak, but no sound would come forth. The fire and brimstone in Mary’s eyes flashed fiercely and Jane felt paralyzed by the sudden change in her usually docile sister.

“Lydia is indisposed. There, now everyone in this household knows. We can move on. Gentlemen, the study?” Lady Matlock waved her arm in that general direction with an open palm. The two gentlemen walked to the study, and to Lady Matlock’s surprise, Mary Bennet walked past her with a curtsy and followed them inside.

Aghast, Lady Matlock started to call after her, but finally Jane found her voice. “We should allow her to go. Mary needs answers and she trusts the Colonel to be honest with her. I’m afraid she would never be able to discuss these schedules until she is satisfied with what has been done,” Jane said, flatly.

“Well, I never.” Lady Matlock pretended to be truly offended, but her quick smile removed any fear from Jane. “Of course, I seem to say that a great deal in regards to the Bennet girls. May I never stop! Now, where were we?” Lady Matlock returned to her seat next to Jane. “Ah, yes,” she glanced once more over her notes on the subject, “the Viscount of Torrington . . .”

In the study, Lord Matlock poured a drink for his son and himself, and offered an empty glass to Mary as a mock gesture. Mary nodded, shocking the Earl, until he looked to his son.

“She drinks the strong stuff, sir. Just a finger.” The Earl nodded and poured a small amount of brandy into the glass to hand it to the young woman.

“I-I-I am most thankful for your family’s assistance in the face of my own disgrace. How we shall ever repay you, I cannot—”

“Hold your tongue, young lady!” The Earl’s booming voice reverberated through Mary’s bones for a moment, startling her into silence.

“Your family became my family the second my nephew fell in love with your sister. We Fitzwilliams are a ferocious lion of a line, we take no kindness to strangers and always protect our own.”

Mary meekly smiled and pressed her glass to her lips for a sip of the aromatic liquid. Her senses awakened, she licked her lips and broke into a grin. The Colonel and Earl laughed heartily.

“What did I tell you, father? Stern stuff is what our Mary is made of, if I may say so?” The Colonel winked at Mary eliciting a blush that spread from the woman’s bosom to her cheeks.

“Ahem.” Lord Matlock interrupted, curious to see the exchange between his son and Miss Mary. He filed it away to speak with his wife over the implications. “What leads did you find about Wickham?”

“Not a blasted one! Forgive me, Miss Mary.”

“You are forgiven, sir. This is your study, if my ears should be offended, it is upon my duty to remove them.”

The Colonel nodded, reflecting how convenient it was to have a woman of sense and sensibility in his circle. “As I was saying, I patroned ah, a dozen houses of ill repute and none of the, ah, contacts there had seen Wickham or heard of him.”

“So, he is not up to his old haunts. He must be finding funds somehow. Perhaps he is already dead?” The Earl looked hopeful, but the Colonel shook his head.

“No, a few of the contacts have seen him, just nothing in the last week or so.” Grimly, Richard Fitzwilliam, Colonel of His Majesty’s 7th Light Dragoons, downed his drink and slammed the glass on his father’s desk. “It’s confounding! And if I do not find the man, all will be for naught. As soon as the gossip reaches him, he will blackmail the devil out of Darcy!”

Mary listened closely as the Earl and Richard deliberated over finding the blackguard. She concentrated and recalled all she knew of Mr. Wickham and reddened as she considered him hurting Miss Darcy. The Earl noticed her expression and inquired about her discomfort.

“I was reflecting upon the knowledge I have of Mr. Wickham, and I confess it is little in comparison to the years he’s been of your acquaintance,” she said, looking up at Richard, who now was giving her his full attention. “But, who assisted him when he injured Miss Darcy?”

The Earl coughed, concerned the Bennet sisters would know of his niece’s disgrace, and it fell to Richard to speak. After a moment, a moment in which Mary worried she had grievously insulted her host and his son, Richard let out what could only be described as a war whoop.