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Darcy was waiting for his sister to come to the breakfast room. He was still annoyed with her for the comment she had made to Anne regarding Aunt Catherine. He understood his aunt could be trying at the best of times, but he also knew she had played an important role in his mother’s life—something Georgiana did not understand.
When Aunt Catherine was eleven years old, her mother had died, and her father, Lord Fitzwilliam, had remarried a year later. Darcy’s mother, Anne, and her brother, Edward, were born of that union. As in many families of the aristocracy, the children were left to the care of a nurse until they were old enough to begin lessons with a governess. That arrangement worked well for the parents, but it often left the children living lonely lives in a far corner of a country house. Catherine, having already experienced the isolation of an attic nursery and classroom, did not want the same for Anne and Edward. Already possessing an assertive personality, she assumed the role of surrogate mother to the two children, and many of the decisions affecting their lives were made by their much older sister.
When Catherine came of age, a marriage was arranged to Lord Lewis de Bourgh, a baron, who was in possession of a great estate and a pile of unpaid bills. After their marriage, Lord de Bourgh used his wife’s dowry to pay down his debt, but when Catherine took over management of the house, money was no longer a problem. She was so efficient a manager, and one who kept watch over every penny spent at Rosings, that her husband removed himself to London. It was only his beloved daughter, Anne, who could coax him back into Kent.
Darcy remembered Anne’s comments about her parents. “Papa was a weak man with a pleasing personality who loved me dearly but who could never live within his means. Because of my father’s failings, it fell to my mother to manage the estate, provide for the servants, and assume those duties that should have been performed by the lord of the manor.”
The great irony was that the same woman who had provided much needed affection to his mother and uncle seemed incapable of doing the same for her own daughter, except in a crisis, as when Anne had nearly died. It was almost as if Anne had been evenly divided between the mother and father, one providing love while the other saw to her physical well-being.
“Good morning, Will,” Georgiana said, interrupting his thoughts.
When his sister came to the table, he began immediately. “Georgiana, please sit down. I need to discuss something with you.”
Before her brother could begin, she said, “You wish to talk to me about my comment regarding Aunt Catherine. You believe it was a thoughtless remark made at our aunt’s expense. But you are wrong. It was premeditated. I wanted to make Anne laugh, and she did. Anne and I have discussed Aunt Catherine on many occasions, and her comments are much more cutting than anything I could ever say.
“I know you are also concerned that I shall be indiscreet when I come out. But I can assure you I shall measure every word before saying anything when in society. You need not worry that I shall embarrass you. I understand the difference between what may be said among family and what must never be discussed outside of our home.” Giving him a peck on the cheek, she said, “I am not very hungry this morning, and the carriage is already here. No need to keep Mr. Oldham waiting unless there is something else you wish to discuss with me.”
“No, off you go. You anticipated my concerns.”
Darcy heard Georgiana say “good morning” to Anne on her way out, and then Anne came into the breakfast room smiling.
“You heard the whole thing, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. I think you made your point, and the desired result was achieved with such an economy of words,” and she started laughing.
“You may laugh, Anne, but no matter how overbearing your mother may be, she deserves our respect.”
“I think you are overly concerned. Georgiana obviously knows what constitutes private and public discourse. Speaking of discourse, our cousin is to make a speech in the House of Lords on Tuesday, and I am to hear him from the Visitor’s Gallery. He is speaking on British maritime supremacy with particular attention being paid to the Americans and the expansion of their merchant fleet. Will you attend?”
“Can you guarantee he will be sober?”
“Will, that is unkind. He is still Lord Fitzwilliam and our cousin.”
“Anne, the last time I saw him, he was outside White’s being supported by two of his friends while waiting for a hackney. If this excessive drinking does not stop, Richard will have a very good chance of becoming Lord Fitzwilliam. His daughters cannot inherit, and Eleanor will not have him in her bed for a king’s ransom, so there will be no heir.”
Anne knew well of Antony’s excesses, and it made her sad to think her cousin was well down the road to an early grave.
“I was aware Eleanor will no longer perform the duties of a wife. Apparently, she has taken a certain Mr. Dillon as her lover.”
Darcy nearly spat out his coffee. “Good God, Anne! Wherever did you hear that? Never mind. I do not want to know. What a topic of conversation for an unmarried woman!”
“Don’t be silly. I may be a maiden, but I am neither blind nor deaf, and I can read. Besides, it was Antony himself who told me about Mr. Dillon.”
Every day Darcy was witness to the great changes happening in society, and was there any greater proof of these convulsions than his sweet, angelic cousin discussing Lady Fitzwilliam being bedded by an importer of fabric from the East Indies?
Of late, so many things seemed upended, and he knew exactly when it had begun: on the road to Netherfield Park. First, the axle on the carriage had broken, and when forced to proceed on horseback, he had been caught out in the open in a rainstorm. His misfortunes multiplied from the time of that blasted assembly. He alienated Bingley, hurt Miss Bennet, insulted Miss Elizabeth not once but several times, and after following Elizabeth into Kent like a love-struck adolescent, his offer of marriage had been resoundingly rejected. He returned to London believing he would find some comfort in his own home. Instead, he found his sister dancing rings around him and his cousin discussing an extramarital affair with her male relation.
“Is there anything else our cousin shared with you?” he said, throwing his napkin on the table. “You know it was he who told The Insider that I would be making an offer of marriage to Miss Montford just as I had decided that I was not going to marry her. And do you know why he is doing this? Because he is being paid by The Insider.”
Anne understood her cousin’s anger, but it had little to do with Miss Montford. What had him so irate was an item that had appeared in several gossip sheets reporting that Will had been seen going into Mrs. Conway’s salon in the evening, but not emerging until dawn. The only news there was that Will believed his relationship with the intelligent and gifted widow of a Whig politician was a secret. Antony, who was unembarrassed by his liaisons, thought nothing of sharing similar information with others, even about the man who had repeatedly come to his rescue.
“That was very wrong of Antony, especially since I am sure it raised Miss Montford’s hopes of an offer, but on the other hand, Mrs. Conway can certainly take care of her herself.”
Will was thunderstruck. “How the devil…?” but then he stopped. “Anne, I have a meeting this morning with George Bingley, and I shall see you this afternoon.” And he went straight out the door, not even waiting for Mercer to hand him his hat.
When Darcy returned that afternoon, he presented his cousin with a bouquet of flowers that he had bought from a flower stall. This was something he frequently did for Anne whenever she was in town because it distressed him to know that his cousin would never have a suitor. It had been her choice, but it saddened him nonetheless.
“You always were the sweetest boy, and that has not changed with the years. So come and sit by me, and let us speak of our visit to Pemberley. I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am to be going. After two long years, I shall be able to walk in the gardens where I can see all the way to the Peak. I am also looking forward to going into the village. Do you often go into Lambton when you are in residence?”
“I would not say often. But when Georgiana and I return to Pemberley for any appreciable amount of time, we do go into the village. My sister is quite the social butterfly. She visits all the shops, compliments the merchants, praises their wives, and pats their children on their heads. She knows everyone’s name, and once she learns a baby has been born, she brings the mother a basket and writes the baby’s name in her little book.”
“Just like your mother.”
“Yes, but there is more pleasure in her kindnesses and less of the obligation.”
“Does Mrs. Culver still manage the inn at Lambton? She was such a nice lady.”
“No, her sons have taken over the management. I am laughing because I have heard many words to describe Mrs. Culver, but ‘nice’ was not one of them. It is hard to be nice when you have travelers descending upon you at all hours.”
“I remember her fondly. When we went there for tea, she always gave us sweets. Do you not remember?”
“Of course she gave us sweets. My father was the lord of the manor, and you were the granddaughter of an earl.”
“Will, you are spoiling my memories.”
Darcy sighed, another slipup, but added, “I stand corrected. Mrs. Culver meets the very definition of ‘nice’ in every respect.”
“My goodness. How sensitive we have become. It is just that I loved going there for tea. Do you think we could go into the village and have tea at the inn? I would like to do so as soon as possible after we arrive at Pemberley. I am that keen on revisiting places of my youth.”
“Whatever you wish will be done. I am at your service.”