Felicity in Marriage Page 4

  “I am sure you will not embarrass him, dearest,” Darcy soothed.

  “Oh goodness, what if he has grown?” The horrifying thought had only now occurred to her and it was almost too much to bear. It seemed a crime that he should change without her to observe it immediately.

  With frustrating calm Darcy replied, “I’m sure he has.”

  Further useless fretting was interrupted by their son’s appearance.

  “Mama!” Edward exclaimed, and then to Lizzy’s great joy he ran into her arms. He was taller than he had been when he left and his was face already beginning to lose some of its boyish softness. Yet he was still her little boy.

  Lizzy sagely restrained herself from smoothing his hair, knowing such an action might be too much like coddling.

  “Did you have a good term?” she asked.

  As if suddenly coming to himself the boy straightened.

  “Yes, Mother. I had a very good term,” he replied most properly, and even though he favored his mother in looks, he seemed remarkably like his father in that moment. Lizzy sighed internally. She must face it, he was growing up, but he would be hers for a little while longer and she intended to savor it while she could.

  The Last Miss Darcy

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a father with but one remaining unmarried daughter must hold all of said daughter’s suitors—nay, all young men in general—in suspect without regards to the good sense of his daughter, nor the respectability of her beaus.

  ****

  Lizzy glanced up from her reflection as Fitzwilliam attempted to covertly enter the room.

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  Lizzy’s maid, who had been so entranced in her preparing her mistress’s hair she had not noticed Darcy’s entrance, released a startled gasp, but Lizzy shook her head in reply. The appearance of her husband was opportune; she had something she really must remind him of.

  Well, perhaps remind was too gentle a word. She intended to nag him . . . carefully. If one was to have any hope of altering the behavior of Fitzwilliam Darcy it must be done with great subtly. It was an art that had taken her nearly thirty years to master.

  The nagging must be eased into the conversation naturally. It must be done cleverly and certainly not in front of the servants, though they were by no means ignorant of their master’s domineering tendencies where this particular subject was concerned. It was impossible not to notice the intensity in which he guarded his daughters. His overprotective nature was the joke of the ton in fact. Anne and Frances had endured it with as much grace as could be expected and both girls had, despite their father’s interference, found gentlemen whose terror of their father was outweighed by their love of them and were now happily married.

  The maid finished her work, undoubtedly more quickly and probably with less skill than she would have otherwise done without the master of the house perched behind her like a great hawk. Fitzwilliam, Lizzy noted, took no notice of the maid’s discomposure. He preferred to remain intentionally unaware of the effect his glowering had on those who did not know him well.

  Lizzy dismissed the maid and continued her examination of her reflection with dissatisfaction. Indeed, her hair was not perfect but it could hardly matter. Perfectly arranged hair could not hide the fact that she looked old.

  She tried to smooth out the wrinkles beneath her eyes with no success. Though she knew it would not help her vanity she glanced at her husband’s reflection. Eight years her senior, his wrinkles were certainly more pronounced than hers and his dark hair had long since gone grey while hers was merely shot with silver, yet all his indications of age made him appear only more distinguished while hers simply made her look old. It was not at all fair.

  Darcy, observing his wife’s fretting, said, “You are still as beautiful as the day I met you.”

  “You were rather unimpressed by my beauty that day if I recall correctly,” Lizzy rejoined dryly, undistracted from her critical observation of the mirror.

  It was the gown, she decided, that was making her feel particularly old. The puffed, gigot sleeves were the height of fashion, but she had loathed them from the moment they had come in style and hoped desperately they would immediately fall out of favor but they had not, instead getting puffier and sillier with each passing season.

  Lizzy was certain her dislike of this style indicated she would soon officially reach her dotage, for she had often observed that once a person began to consider modern fashion silly it was only a short time before he or she started to think modern music too derivative, the latest dances too shocking, and the manners of all young people terribly uncouth.

  “I cannot believe I shall soon be a grandmother. A grandmother.”

  Anne, who after five seasons had found her match, would be having her first child sometime in the summer.

  “Or perhaps I can believe it,” Lizzy added still scrutinizing her appearance.

  “That gown is most becoming,” said Darcy. His wife cast him a look that said she thought he had gone mad.

  “Not the bit of flattery you were looking for? Fine, how about this: Your beautiful eyes still take my breath away.”

  She snorted, smothering her laughter with her hand. “That one is getting a little tired, don’t you think?”

  Darcy sighed. “At some point you must take one of these compliments and be pleased. Surely you know me well enough to realize this is the best you will get.”

  “Why did I marry you? It certainly wasn’t for your silver tongue”

  “My library, I believe.”

  “Hmmm, yes. Yes, I think that rather likely.”

  Lizzy picked up her necklace and thrust it at her husband. “Here, be useful since you frightened my maid away.”

  Darcy obediently worked the clasp of the necklace. Once he had completed his task he said, “You really do look ravishing . . . as always.”

  Lizzy cast a fond smile his way. He really was the perfect husband, she thought. Yet she could not let his flattery soften her, “About tonight—.”

  “Ah, here it comes, I was wondering when you would make time to lecture me.”

  “You know what I must say—.”

  “I do not know that you must say it—.”

  “I’ve said with each of them to little avail, but I am afraid you will be particularly fearsome about Ellie so I must try.”

  Their youngest daughter Ellie had just turned eighteen and would be attending her first London ball that evening. Only yesterday she had made her bow to the queen. Despite all her fears that she would embarrass herself, she had performed admirably. Now her only fear was that her father would chase off all the gentlemen, leaving her no one to dance with at the ball. Sadly this fear had some merit.

  “I will not be any more unreasonably protective of Ellie than I was of the other girls. . . . Not that I am admitting to being unreasonable at all.”

  “Not unreasonable! You will remember the May Day Fair three years ago when you frightened the innkeeper’s son simply because he had the audacity to dance with Ellie. The poor boy still crosses to the other side of the street any time we see him in Lambton.”

  “I could not have some Romeo trying to woo my little girl.”

  “She was fifteen, hardly a little girl. He was twelve and more than a head shorter than her. I can scarcely believe you thought her likely to elope with him.”

  “If I am overprotective of Ellie it is because I have cause to be. She is so headstrong, so independent.”

  “So like me, in other words. I suppose you think I’m likely to behave foolishly as well? It is a wonder you haven’t locked me in my chambers.”

  He growled. Her talent for twisting his words had only improved over the years.

  “I will concede that she is a little wild,” Lizzy added hastily to ease his growing anger.

  “She is feral. I am terrified for the poor young man she sets her cap at.”

  “We’re all terrified for the poor young man, but not because of her beha
vior.”

  “Am I really so bad?”

  “Yes!” Lizzy cried, unable to hide her exasperation.

  Seeing the hurt cross his features, Lizzy amended, “You are well-intentioned I know. The girls know it too. And even though so much time has passed, I realize your caution is related to Georgiana’s near-elopement and Lydia’s unfortunate marriage. There are scoundrels in the world, it is true. But you must remember not every young man is like George Wickham.

  “You also must remember that behaving the tyrant may have the opposite effect of which you desire. Our very prudent Anne nearly convinced the perfectly respectable Mr. Felton to elope just to avoid seeking your approval.”

  “It would probably be easy to convince Felton of anything, the man is an imbecile.”

  “He only sounds like an imbecile because he is too frightened of you to speak full sentences in your presence. I have found him to be very sensible.”

  Darcy murmured dubiously.

  “Your disapproval of him is quite useless now. He is Anne’s husband and soon to be the father of our first grandchild.”

  “By the Good Lord’s Grace may the child not be an imbecile like its father.”

  “Fitzwilliam.”

  “Fine, I will admit I have been a little harsh, Felton is perhaps not an imbecile. . . . But you cannot deny his ears are ridiculous.”

  Lizzy barely stifled a laugh. It was true, the poor man had the most prominent ears she had ever seen. “You are awful.”

  “Completely. Awfully. Wicked,” he said punctuating each word with a kiss.

  “Stop it, my hair is disordered enough as it is,” scolded Lizzy with absolutely no resolve.

  Fortunately her hair was saved by the sudden entry of Ellie, who stormed into her mother’s dressing room in high dudgeon. Lizzy felt she must take credit for her daughter’s hotheadedness, but, though her husband would deny it, she knew Ellie’s willfulness was a Darcy trait. Her flair for the dramatic, Lizzy was certain, had been the contribution of her maternal grandmother.

  “Mama, you must keep Papa from ruining my life.”

  The girl’s focus was so fixed on her mother, she neglected to see her father, who had jumped guiltily away from his wife the moment the door had swung open. Now fully in the room she spotted him, “Papa! You are here as well,” she exclaimed, her eyes darting between her mother and father with a scandalized expression.

  “I have no intention of ruining your life, Ellie.”

  “Well of course you don’t intend to. I do not suspect you of malice, Papa, only absurdity.”

  “Ellie,” Lizzy scolded. He could take some teasing and was always most lenient with the children, but tonight after she had already harped at him he would be in no mood for further criticism even when it was spoke in jest.

  “And you have nothing to worry over anyway,” Ellie pressed on, “I have already decided I will not be finding a husband this season. There is so much more amusement to be had when one is single. Once one marries the excitement is over. There is nothing left to do but have babies and grow old and dull.”

  “Too true,” Lizzy chimed. It frightened her how much Ellie sometimes sounded like Lydia. Perhaps it was a curse of youngest daughters to be a little frivolous.

  “Oh Mama, I didn’t mean you.”

  “Of course not.”

  “It is all so very frightening, too. How can one possibly be certain one is choosing the right person? What if I choose wrongly? I could be stuck with a man I loathe forever! No, it is not a decision I plan to rush into.”

  Other times, blessedly, she did not remind Lizzy of Lydia in the least.

  “I just want to dance. Papa, I promise not to fall in love with any rakes or blackguards tonight.”

  Darcy’s injured pride had recovered enough from being called absurd for him to make a sort of encouraging grunt, which seemed to satisfy Ellie.

  She began unabashedly preening in her mother’s mirror though she was already dressed and in no need of further grooming.

  “You look very pretty,” Darcy said.

  “I do, don’t I?” Ellie replied with a grin, then she dashed from the room.

  As if suddenly remembering her manners she skipped back into the chamber, kissed her father on the cheek, said, “Thank you, Papa,” and then exited once more.

  “She is going to be the death of me,” Darcy said as soon as the door had closed.

  ***

  “Go to the card room, darling, you are frightening all the young men away,” Lizzy said as she nudged Darcy towards the aforementioned room. The ball was a crush as she knew it would be and she was desperately trying to keep her youngest daughter by her side while getting her husband as far from it as possible.

  “Go,” she urged again, “You will not be missed.”

  He tromped off at long last though Lizzy suspected he would not go to the card room, but instead would lurk about waiting to pounce on Ellie’s unsuspecting dance partners.

  “Where is Frances? She promised she would have Sir Geoffrey look after your father,” Lizzy said as she searched the crowd for her middle daughter.

  Ellie, who was a bit taller than her mother and also unembarrassed to stand on the tips of her toes, had a better view. “I do not see Frances, but I see Cousin Ralph. We must go to him. He will find someone to dance with me.”

  Hearing the uncertainty in her daughter’s voice, Lizzy said, “You will not have any trouble finding dance partners, dearest.”

  “Perhaps not the first. But I will have trouble finding subsequent partners if Papa challenges my first partner to a duel,” Ellie said as she spied her father still lingering, “He is not playing cards. He is pretending to talk to Baron Aubrey, but we both know he thinks him a great bore. I’m certain he is really spying on us.”

  “I’m sure you are right.”

  Ellie’s face fell.

  “All will be well. Let us go greet your cousin.”

  ***

  The evening progressed well. After a half an hour they were joined by Frances; Frances’s husband, Sir Geoffrey, had pleaded ill. Ellie had danced the first with Ralph Bingley with no ill-affect. When the dancing had begun Darcy had completely given up the farce of conversation and moved closer to the dancers to glower. He had not, however, challenged Ralph to a duel. It was unclear if his lack of action was caused by him deeming Ralph safe or if he was simply reluctant to threaten violence on his own nephew.

  Darcy was visibly less at ease with the various friends of Ralph who asked Ellie for a set after the first had finish, but he kept his distance. Ellie chatted amiably with all her partners and looked to be enjoying herself immensely, but did not show any signs of falling ridiculously in love.

  All this changed when Ellie was introduced to the handsome Viscount Ashby.

  Lizzy’s first impression of the viscount was that he was a little aloof. His sister, a friend of Frances’s, was continually nudging him to encourage a proper response.

  “How fortunate I am to find myself in such lovely company on such a pleasant evening,” he said after some urging from his sister. The words were charming, but his tone was uninterested, on the verge of being uncivil. He could not be more than a few years out of university and it would seem he had fallen into the common trap of thinking highly of himself to the point of conceit.

  Ellie seemed to take no notice of his cold manner. She had enough enthusiasm for the both of them.

  “I am so pleasant,” Ellie said, sputtering and blushing darkly, “That is to say it is such a pleasant evening and I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.” Lizzy stared at her daughter in astonishment, she had never known her to become flustered.

  When a significant glance proved insufficient to produce the desired invitation to dance, his sister gave him another not-so-discreet nudge. Lord Ashby was thus inspired into speech. The desired invitation was made grudgingly and accepted readily.

  “He is going to think I’m a simpleton,” Ellie wailed when the viscount was dragge
d off to greet other acquaintances.

  “Oh you were only a bit nervous. I thought you seemed charmingly fresh,” said Frances.

  Ellie did not appear heartened. She wrung her hands waiting for the next set to begin.

  “You are supposed to be playing cards,” Lizzy said to her husband who had rejoined the party.

  “Cards bore me. Who is she to dance with next?”

  “Viscount Ashby, that gentleman there.”

  “Him?” Darcy asked, following her indicative nod.

  “I don’t like him,” he said instantly.

  “What do you know of him?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “He looks full of himself,” Darcy added defensively in answer to his wife’s exasperated glare.

  Though she had thought quite the same thing, Lizzy said, “No more so than any other wealthy, notable man of his age.”

  Darcy shook his head. “Look at the state of him. All young men are popinjays these days.”

  When the next set was about to begin Ellie, who had spent the last set in nervous anticipation asked, “Where is Lord Ashby?”

  “I believe that is him over there,” Frances replied.

  Lord Ashby did not appear to be searching for her at all, instead he was in deep conversation with another gentleman, far away on the other side of the ballroom.

  Ellie cried, “He will miss our dance! I have thought of so many sensible things to say, he cannot rob me of my chance to redeem myself. Perhaps we might walk a little closer to him.”

  “Any gentleman worth the name will come to you himself,” Darcy said.

  Ellie, however, did not heed her father but started off, Frances in tow.

  Lizzy wanted to stop her, she was in danger of appearing too eager, but she knew her time would be better spent keeping her husband stationary lest he be tempted to go with his daughter and give Lord Ashby a lecture on chivalry.

  Lord Ashby was perhaps in need of such a lecture.

  As Ellie and Frances approached, they overheard Lord Ashby say with a groan, “I am engaged to dance this set.”

  “With whom?” asked his companion.

  “Miss Elinor Darcy.”