A Summer Shame (3 page)

“Bravo, Mary, Bravo!” He leaned down to kiss her hand. “I cannot believe I’ve blundered so deeply as to overlook such an important lead. I shall find Mrs. Younge this very afternoon!”

“Oh, Colonel, you must rest first.” Mary bit her lower lip at her impertinence, but her concern won out. “If you find Mr. Wickham, I am afraid he might become dangerous. I would feel much better if you were at your full strength when you confront him.”

“You think my strength is wanting?” he asked, with a slight huskiness to his voice.

“No, I am impressed by your strength. I only meant you would be better served . . . that is . . .” Mary was flustered and felt an insensible heat rising along her neckline that was most bothersome.

“Richard! Miss Mary is correct, you need a bath, a good meal, and sleep to be equal to the task at hand.” The Earl clasped his son on the shoulder as to brook no disagreement.

Mary watched them, father and son, so openly showing affection for one another, and memories of her own father's neglect clouded her thoughts. She rose from her chair, curtsied to the gentlemen, and returned to the main hall. She could hear her sister and Lady Matlock still discussing their social plans and shook her head. She took the stairs to her bedroom and laid down.

The flushes of heat worried her that she might be falling ill and the last person she wished to disappoint was Lady Matlock. She curled up on her bed and dreamed of dancing with the Colonel, but became most annoyed when the warmth began to overtake her again. Frantically searching her trunk, she found her worn prayer book and pulled it out to ease her mind. She knew what came of these stirrings, and Mary Bennet whispered an oath that she would not become another fallen Bennet girl.

The morning's service at church regarding the sanctity of marriage inspired Jane Bennet to approach the Earl about inviting Mr. Bingley to Matlock House. The old man inquired if Jane was prepared to sever the connection, and Jane nodded most vigorously, not trusting her voice to remain steady. As she paced the parlor hours later, her maid sat in the corner of the room doing her best to blend in with the wallpaper as she mended a bonnet.

Jane continued to wring her hands as she spied the carriage most assuredly carrying Mr. Bingley arriving in front of the house. She involuntarily flinched, unable to watch as the carriage door opened, while the lady of the home entered the parlor with a "tsk, tsk." Calmly, Lady Matlock reached for Jane's hands and held them. "It's a nasty business, but once it's over, the only future you will have is a happy one, my dear."

Jane managed a firm countenance as Mr. Bingley's arrival was announced. Surprised, Lady Matlock greeted Mr. Bingley and escorted him to the sofa directly after Jane took a seat.

"I must say, the invitation was a surprise. I thought perhaps Miss Bennet was ill, but I've heard you were at the Sefton Tea."

"Hmmm, you heard we were there? I rather wonder we did not meet your or your sister there." Lady Matlock's expression was best described as a cat playing its prey, and the display made Jane do a double take.

"Well, yes, we had a previous engagement, Caroline was most displeased we could not take up the invitation." Bingley glanced around at the elegant furnishings, choosing to focus on a painting of wildflowers on the far wall.

Jane furrowed her brows and stared at her lap. She knew the Bingleys were not invited to the tea party, it was the only reason she had agreed to attend. It was so unlike Charles to put on airs, mayhap he was not the man she thought he was? She tried to return to the polite conversation going on between her beau and her sponsor in society, but found his manners so thoroughly superficial and the subtle slights by Lady Matlock painful to watch.

"Mr. Bingley, I had asked the Earl of Matlock to invite you here this afternoon for a purpose, sir." The words tumbled out of Jane's mouth before she realized how forward she appeared. A quick glance to Lady Matlock showed the older woman approved, and with a slight nod, she rose and excused herself from the room, making sure the maid was indeed present and not fully closing the parlor door.

Baffled, Mr. Bingley sat speechless after Lady Matlock's exit, but soon recovered by remarking on the painting of wildflowers. Jane cocked her head to one side and listened with half a heart. When he asked her opinion, she shook her head.

"I believe it is time we end our courtship, Charles. I purposely avoided your company and refused your visits, and . . . behaved not as a courted woman ought." A lightening in her chest allowed Jane to inhale deeply for the first time since the disastrous ball on the eve of her sister's wedding.

"You've needed time, I'm sure, my dearest to tend to your family and your grieving. I, too, have been distracted, but hope I have placed no undue pressure upon you, Jane. There is no need for hasty decisions." Bingley's hands sweated most profusely and he tried discreetly to wipe them on his trousers. If his sister heard he lost the courtship of Jane Bennet, she would be most displeased about what it would mean for their social calendar. She had already begun putting it about London how she was practically a sister to Mr. Darcy by marriage.

"I see you have not considered how unsuitable our match has become. We want different lives, I'm afraid. You enjoy the hustle and bustle here in London, and I wish nothing more than to go home to the country. I do not believe I will ever be able to accept a proposal from you, much as I have esteemed and respected your person. I think—I believe it best we both have the opportunity to seek our own future." Jane said strongly, rising from the sofa with a firm posture.

Bingley too rose, but with panic. "Jane, please, Jane." He looked behind him as Lady Matlock re-entered the room. Frantic, as she announced she had just called his carriage, Bingley did the only thing he could think of to save the situation. He grabbed Jane by the arms and kissed her directly on the mouth.

Upon release, the fist of Jane Bennet, supreme queen of the frog catchers in her youth, connected most sincerely with the nose of Charles Edward Bingley. Lady Matlock gasped as Bingley stumbled backwards, cupping his nose with his hands, but she recovered swiftly to grab the wayward gentleman by the ear, dragging him out of her parlor.

"Good day, Mr. Bingley, and be thankful my sons are not here to trounce you out my door!" Lady Matlock made sure the butler escorted Mr. Bingley out the door none too gently. Margaret Fitzwilliam returned to the parlor to find the maid comforting a sobbing Jane who had collapsed on the couch.

"Edith, please fetch a basin of cold water and a cloth. Miss Bennet has injured her hand." The maid curtsied and left through the side door to the servant's hall.

"I'm so sorry, Lady Matlock. I don't know what came over me! For him to impose himself, I just was so angry!"

"Sssh, ssh, Jane dear. That was an impressive display of fisticuffs, I must say. Do please look at it this way, had either of my sons witnessed such a display, his face would be much more maligned."

"But we will have to marry now." Jane buried her face in the offered arms of Lady Matlock, cradling her throbbing hand.

"What, an ant like Bingley? Please, darling, where is your sense? No one in the Ton will admit the Bingleys if he should tell tales about how he injured his face. I would hardly call that being ruined when both your maid and I were present. As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Bingley tripped over my Oriental and tumbled into your person."

The basin of water arrived and Jane carefully soaked her hand in the cool relief. Reflecting on all Lady Matlock had said before she excused herself to make regrets for tonight's event, Jane sniffed to restore her calm demeanor. She knew once Lizzie heard the tale, she would be incredibly proud.

With her head in her hands, Elizabeth Darcy openly wept. Becky, her maid, walked in with a fresh gown in hand to spy her mistress sitting slumped at her dressing table.

"Mrs. Darcy! Mrs. Darcy!" Becky laid the gown on her bed and rushed over to her side. "Oh, ma'am, whatever is wrong? Shall I tell Mr. Gerrod you are indisposed?" she whispered.

"What?" Elizabeth stopped her sobbing, to look up at her maid with tear stained cheeks. Frantically, Elizabeth began to wipe her face as she tried to steady her heaving. Becky hastened to the drawer where the handkerchiefs were kept and produced a fresh one for her mistress. "No, please do not. Do not. I shall be ready, presently."

Elizabeth stood up to reach for her gown, then confused for a moment, located it lying on the bed. Two weeks in their Scotland home and she still struggled to feel at ease in her boudoir, though that was most likely due to the enormous amount of time she spent in Mr. Darcy's suite.

The door connecting the suites opened and Mr. Darcy strode into the room. He paid no mind as Becky helped Elizabeth change her dress and patiently waited for his wife to turn to him.

"My dearest," he huskily uttered, reaching out a hand Elizabeth immediately grasped. "Shall I have a talk with her?"

"No, it was dreadful, but, nothing I cannot handle. She is my sister and my burden to bear. But how, how did you come to me?"

"There's a great deal of caterwauling going on in Miss Lydia's room, and if one sister was screaming and throwing items, it did not take a giant leap of logic to suppose the sister I love best might be similarly disturbed."

Elizabeth sighed, leaning closer to her husband as Becky disappeared into the closet to fetch the rest of her things. "I am so very sorry, William."

Rigid, William embraced his wife, but his own guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders. Gingerly, he bent his head and tilted his wife's face up to lightly brush her lips with his. "I am afraid you are mistaken, my lovely, witty, Elizabeth. The blame lies square upon my shoulders."

Elizabeth pushed back slightly and scoffed. "How so? Explain yourself, sir!" Never able to remain melancholy for long, Elizabeth's bright spirit began to rally.

"I knew what a scourge Wickham was! I barely warned your mother and did nothing to warn the general population of Meryton about him. Perhaps the only silver lining to this dark cloud is the maiden afflicted could come under my protection . . . a penance I'm certain."

Elizabeth's lower lip began to quiver, her face crumbling into a silent sob. Here was her husband, such a gallant knight of a gentleman, taking the blame for a scandal entirely wrought by her own family. Her emotions overcame her and her husband directed her as they both sat on the edge of her primly-made bed. Inhaling a number of deep breaths, Elizabeth refused to give into another bout of sobbing. It simply would not do!

When she trusted her emotions, she began to speak. "A letter from Charlotte tells me Maria and Kitty were witnesses of Lydia's shameless behavior. The worst part is Jane has learned from our own mother she encouraged Lydia from shortly after we made Mr. Wickham's acquaintance to focus her attentions on the officer, even going so far as to allow her to visit with the man unchaperoned." Elizabeth's voice sounded small near the end, and Mr. Darcy cleared his throat as they both sat extremely uncomfortable.

Becky appeared with the matching slippers and silk pelisse. Elizabeth donned the garment and took her husband's arm as they left the room to exit the home.

"How did she react to the plans for the . . .?" Mr. Darcy asked quietly as they walked in the deserted hall, still able to hear loud voices coming from Lydia's end of the family wing.

"That is precisely what sparked the tantrum. She thought we were hiding her and the child so she might one day marry her dear Mr. Wickham. As soon as he is found, in her own foolish words. To start, I told her she would not be able to keep the babe, producing quite a shock. It was only after she accepted she could not go back to London for balls and delights with a baby in tow, least of all a bastard, that she asked about the arrangements . . ." Elizabeth stopped as a trio of maids waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Once the entryway had cleared, she never managed to finish as Mr. Darcy broke away to open the front door himself. In the drive, their open barouche waited, covered in green and lavender silk ribbons and bouquets of flowers. Elizabeth gasped at the lovely sight. The maids behind her giggled, and she turned to see Mrs. Buchanan wiping her hands on her apron with a wide smile on her face. Elizabeth mouthed "Thank you,"  and the older woman merely nodded in return.

With a shriek, Elizabeth was scooped into the arms of Mr. Darcy and carried to the barouche. "Mr. Darcy, I do believe you are supposed to carry your bride over the threshold into the house, not out of it."

"Am I?" He gave her one of his rare dimpled smiles as they reached the barouche and he carefully released her feet onto the floorboards, and reached for her hand to steady her as she took a seat. Before alighting into the open carriage himself, he doffed his hat to the Starvet House staff congregating in the doorway eliciting a tremor of cheer and applause. Using his momentum to get into the carriage, he leaned close to his Elizabeth's ear and whispered, "When have we ever done what we're supposed to?" The devilish man took a seat next to his bride.

Elizabeth giggled and clasped one hand of her husband as he patted with the other on the side of the carriage to motion for the driver to start. With a quick flick of the reins, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were on their way to the little hamlet of Haddington. Elizabeth relished the fresh scent of sea spray that appeared to hang in the air, but as the carriage drove further inland towards the village, new scents replaced the ocean's mighty pull. Hawthorn and foxglove lined the gently rolling fields as Elizabeth squinted and looked up into the sun. Without turning her head, she began to speak.