A Spring Society Read online

  “I do not even wish to know which uncle of mine is at fault.”

  “I’m afraid it’s both, sir. The last two days they’ve been most demanding in their requests in the afternoon. And sometimes, in the evening.” Mrs. Reynolds did not add she had begun keeping the younger maids away at all cost from Mr. Alistair Darcy. The man had not changed in the twenty-some years he’d been away.

  Darcy sighed and put his report aside. Mrs. Reynolds stepped back as Mr. Darcy rose from his chair, but he offered the woman a warm smile. “My apologies for the disruption my family has caused. And I fear I have been most distracted by the care of Mrs. Darcy—”

  “As you should be, sir!” The woman who had fussed over the lad who stood now as a great man before her could not help the motherly outburst. But neither could Mr. Darcy scold her, not when they were in private and he so heavily relied on Mrs. Reynolds’ good sense.

  “Yes, she is nearing the final days,” he errantly smoothed the wayward curls at the nape of his neck bothering his collar, “least, I dearly hope so!” The young husband let out a nervous laugh.

  “She is, we all see it. And I have the staff prepared for the moment Mrs. Darcy’s time may come. But sir?”

  “Yes, yes,” Darcy tugged his waistcoat down as he lifted his coat from the back of his chair. “I shall go now and discuss the household expectations with our guests. We cannot have Mrs. Darcy’s carefully made dinner plans ruined further. And an oyster sauce is more than adequate; I shall let Mrs. Darcy know of the adjustment when she wakes.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Mrs. Reynolds began to mention the spring hiring fair, but Mr. Darcy tabled that matter for another day. That was not a discussion he would have without his wife, but he did not tell Mrs. Reynolds so.

  After the housekeeper left to oversee other parts of the house, Darcy exited his study to look down the long hallway to the older wing of the house where the library was situated. He had avoided the company of both uncles of late for many reasons, and while he had no choice but to discuss the delicate matter of disrupting the mistress’ menu, he knew he would also no longer avoid discussions of another sort. Both men desired letters to draft from the Darcy accounts in London, but Fitzwilliam was not prepared to pen one for either of them. After all, how could he trust them with pounds of sterling when he couldn’t rely on either of them to spare pounds of oysters?

  Chapter 2

  The library at Pemberley was so immense, taking up the southern wing of the home, that as Mr. Darcy stormed in to confront his uncles, he took no notice of the two persons sitting at the table in the back corner, perpendicular to the doorway. Still, the sudden noise of the two double wooden doors opening caused both Kitty and Robert Fitzwilliam to freeze, though the master of the house stalked away with his back to them.

  They waited until Mr. Darcy was clear of the large atlas reference tables in the middle of the room and nearly to the comfortable seating area over by the fire before Kitty dared to giggle. Even Robert finally let out a sigh of relief.

  Kitty dipped her quill in an inkwell as she felt Robert lean over in his chair to look over her shoulder. She thought carefully before adding a line.

  And to what end should I consider your patronage, my Lord?

  “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see this performed! You truly have a talent, Miss Catherine.”

  Kitty blushed as her shoulders tensed. Three times now in the last hour, a compliment regarding her writing had passed Viscount Ashbourne’s lips. And as the fourth daughter of five, though now the youngest with the loss of her dearest sister, Lydia, the previous summer, she was not accustomed to attention, let alone compliments.

  “I suppose the best actors of the work will have to live in our minds,” she said sincerely.

  Outbursts from the other side of the library attracted their attention, and they both reddened with embarrassment.

  “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY FAMILY AGAIN OF ABUSING YOUR KINDNESS!” The Earl of Matlock could be heard from across the room as he stood and faced his nephew, who pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

  After a moment, the men’s voices quieted, and Kitty hurriedly returned her focus to her writing.

  “What do you suppose they’re arguing over?” Kitty asked quietly, not wishing to upset her friend the Viscount, but allowing him an opportunity to vent if he so desired. She ignored the itchiness of the wig on her head, a condition of being out and about in polite company until her hair grew back.

  “Money. ‘Tis always about money,” Robert scoffed as he picked up pages she had completed of a different folly, one telling the story of a bee who only pollinated the prettiest flowers in a garden, even though the less attractive flowers tried to warn him. But when the bee wouldn’t listen, along came a spider and snagged the bee in his web, and the flowers were unable to save him.

  “As vulgar as it is said to be, I must say it appears to have a great use,” Kitty sighed considering for a moment that if she were able to use her dowry as she wished, she’d pay to publish her works. But that was an unlikely outcome given that both her sister, Elizabeth, and Mr. Darcy insisted Kitty enjoy one season in London before committing to a career in writing. Her theatrics at Christmas had secured a delay, but not a reprieve.

  “Oh yes, great use, and great responsibility and great nuisance, if you ask me.”

  Kitty disliked this side of the Viscount. He was an intelligent man, a delight to discuss poetry and the intricacies of a story, but he was also spoiled. He’d never had to live on economy until very recently and thought it always to be the result of a deficiency in character, not circumstance.

  “Well, I did not.”

  “Did not what?” he asked in response.

  Kitty lifted her quill to place it in its velvet box and capped her inkwell. “I did not ask for your opinion on money.” She stood and began to gather her papers, careful to leave the one she most recently penned on top to dry so it would not smear.

  Robert reached out to grab her wrist. Kitty froze at his unexpected touch.

  “I’ve upset you, I did not intend to. Please do not leave, you’ll force me to go sit with them.” His eyes flitted across the room as they both spied Mr. Darcy now walking towards them, a curious expression on his face.

  Kitty wrested her hand free, as the Viscount released his grip, and finished collecting her things. She had been more at ease in their rather large family group day-by-day since she was the last to learn of her favorite sister’s demise. But Elizabeth had urged her to retreat to her very generous and gorgeous suite when her emotions began to churn with unpleasantness.

  Mr. Darcy came upon them formally and bowed his head.

  “Kitty, may I help you with your papers?” he asked, and his sister by marriage smiled in gratitude.

  “Darcy, I was just telling Miss Catherine we ought to perform some of her follies after dinner one night!” Robert allowed his enthusiasm for diversion to lift his tone as though this were nothing but an elegant house party and not a family in shambles.

  “Would that please you?” Mr. Darcy asked intently of his wife’s sister.

  Kitty bit her lower lip and with a shy smile, nodded.

  Mr. Darcy returned her expression with an amused laugh, showing more tenderness to the youngest of the Bennet lot in his home since her painful winter. He had come to admire Kitty’s writing.

  “Then I shall speak with Mrs. Darcy and have it arranged. Would you like to be in charge of selecting the actors?”

  Kitty hesitated, and Robert spoke up.

  “I’ll assist her, and we can even ask some of the household staff! It shall be great fun!”

  Darcy frowned.

  “Let me speak to my wife, first, if you please. And Mrs. Reynolds for good measure.”

  Mr. Darcy escorted his sister from the library as he too was on his way upstairs to report to his wife on a number of matters.

  Robert Fitzwilliam groaned. If he liked horses more, he’d be like his brother Richard and head t
o the stables. But he never did take to the soreness after a long ride. And his preferred diversions of cards and parties, and particularly opium, were not available to him here. He supposed he could select a new book to read, but no doubt his father would call him over.

  Instead, the unambitious viscount waiting to inherit took inspiration from the home’s grand hostess herself. He decided to walk in the gardens.

  In a remarkable feat, the grand estate of Pemberley felt smaller and smaller by the passing day for Fitzwilliam Darcy. His dining room, his library, and even his study provided no refuge from the foibles of his relatives both by marriage and blood. But one sanctuary he and his wife had managed to maintain was his bedroom suite. While the mistress’ suite of Mrs. Darcy was often frequented by her mother, sisters, and his aunt, his rooms remained private. The threshold was only crossed by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and their personal servants, which was the closest attainment of privacy the expecting couple could manage.

  It was not remarkable then for him to find his wife, many months gone with his child, slumbering peacefully in his bed after he escorted Kitty to her room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Darcy struggled as quietly as he could to divest himself of his boots and slip in next to his wife. Unfortunately, his efforts disturbed the well-strung mattress, and Elizabeth Darcy's eyes fluttered open.

  "Mmmmm, Fitzwilliam. Is it time to dress for dinner?" she asked.

  Mr. Darcy leaned back and twisted his torso to kiss his wife's forehead. "No, it's still early. Though I have news from Mrs. Reynolds. I'm afraid the menu has required a slight change."

  Elizabeth grunted as she struggled to push herself up into a sitting position. Rolling side to side to get a bit of momentum she finally managed to prop up on her elbows and slide her form closer to the headboard. She patted the bed beside her and Darcy kicked off his stubborn right boot to join her.

  For a moment, the two merely sat next to one another, and Mr. Darcy reached out to rest a hand across her midsection. The growing babe did not disappoint as Elizabeth’s awakening and movement had disturbed the child. Mr. Darcy felt an odd sensation as a large round part of the fetus moved under his hand.

  "Do you suppose that's the head?" he asked, questioning his wife for what sacred knowledge she might possess, being the one to carry the child.

  But Elizabeth laughed. "If it pleases you, then certainly, but I think it might be another part altogether." She reached down to gently press on the other side of her swollen belly, finding what she thought to be the babe’s head. She dragged Fitzwilliam's hand over to the same side so he might feel the other rounded area, then she brought his hand to the original position where they were both rewarded with a swift kick!

  "Still so strong!" he exclaimed as Elizabeth winced, her breathing becoming hitched.

  "Yes, very strong, and uncomfortable," she grumbled, as she expertly applied pressure on one side to encourage the baby into a position that didn't kick into her lungs. "Tell me more about the change to dinner?"

  Fitzwilliam's eyes widened as he watched Elizabeth manage her distress, and she had to ask the question again before he responded.

  "A minor change. The oysters."

  "Your uncles," she said, and he nodded to affirm. "Fitzwilliam—"

  "Before you fuss, dearest, I spoke to them. I made it absolutely clear this household has but one mistress and the staff is now instructed to not give in to their whims against your wishes." Fitzwilliam hastily explained how he had handled the situation, feeling quite proud of himself, until he looked up to spy Elizabeth still frowning.

  Instead of a restful afternoon with his wife, Fitzwilliam soon found himself alone in his bed as Elizabeth rolled away from him and gingerly pushed herself out of bed.

  "Have I made another misstep?" The last months had been not just a trial from his family members but also learning the many moods of a wife in a family way. Much of what he said or did resulted in Elizabeth's displeasure, and he almost anticipated the birth of this child if only to have the return of the cheerful woman he married.

  "Did you speak about when we might expect either of them to leave our household?" she asked in a breathless tone as she looked around for her slippers. She knew she wore into her husband's bedroom, yet they were missing from the place under the bed where she usually left them.

  "When they might leave? Most certainly."

  "And?"

  "And..." Fitzwilliam groaned as he left his bed too soon for his taste, helping his wife look for her slippers. "Uncle Alistair gave me the justification that he'd like to go up to Starvet House."

  Elizabeth gasped. "But Jane!"

  Darcy lifted his wife's robe from its puddle at the foot of the bed. She had likely removed it before resting as being so far along in her condition made her very sensitive to heat. Any fire in the house was too warm for her. She had even ceased to meet with Cook in the kitchens. Underneath the forgotten robe were the missing slippers.

  As Mrs. Darcy's eyes followed her husband's down to the very items she had looked for, she waddled forward and slipped them on with a huff, taking her robe from him as well for good measure.

  "He cannot go bother Jane and little Robin. If he learns of the child..."

  "We agree heartily on the subject, my dear, but that means to protect the child, we jeopardize your mother."

  Elizabeth frowned and pressed her forehead against the tall bedpost. Her husband's hands expertly began to knead the knots in her lower back. Elizabeth moaned her thanks.

  "The child is innocent, my mother is . . ."

  "A widow," Darcy finished. His wife turned, scrunching up her face in a manner he had found endearing since their engagement.

  "Is it wrong to sacrifice one family member for another?" she asked.

  Darcy shook his head.

  "Not at all. Given that the child will have enough challenges to face as he grows up, I believe we are acting prudently."

  Elizabeth sighed and nodded. Then she closed her eyes and touched her fingertips to her forehead. "And the Matlocks leave in a month with Georgiana and their son? Before Easter?"

  "Y-yes. . . " Darcy answered hesitantly, causing his wife's eyes to fly open.

  "You promised . . . before the babe . . ."

  He held up his hands in defense. "I did. I do. But you realize this also means sending away my sister."

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip and gazed down at the elegant Persian rug that covered the floor of her husband's suite. It was not so much that she wanted Georgiana away, but that she wished her home to be simpler, easier to manage once she gave birth.

  "If we keep her here . . ." Elizabeth began, but her husband shook his head.

  "I believe we have all learned the foolishness of trying to make our sisters bend to our will." His defeated tone made Elizabeth smirk, and then she began to chuckle which drew her husband near to her as he dearly loved to hear her laugh. One kiss led to another, and they took comfort in each other's arms.

  "I am sorry to sound cross and make you feel as though I wish to send your family away," Elizabeth confessed as she rested her head against her husband's shoulder and he stroked her lower back.

  "I wish to send them away! Remember, I'm the one who kept Alistair in India!" Mr. Darcy exclaimed, making his wife laugh even more.

  "Perhaps WE should go to India," she said, and he pulled back.

  "Absolutely not! You can barely handle the heat here in early spring, do you know the temperatures in Calcutta?"

  Elizabeth shook her head, but a reminder of her discomfort made her take a step away from Fitzwilliam and the heat his body produced.

  "I'm merely restless . . . I wish this baby would come, and then I also wish to keep him safe, forever." Her hands protectively cradled the swollen expanse of her midsection.

  Fitzwilliam offered her a look a concern that made her startle with a laugh. “Oh dear, and now I’ve gone and worried you.”

  For his part of the conversation, Mr. Darcy stood speechless. He struggled to s
wallow as any mention of his wife’s time to labor brought back so many distressing memories from his childhood with his mother. He closed his eyes and remembered his wife’s words the first time they spoke of his fears, that he must remember that he and his sister were safely delivered.

  “I do wish you’d allow me to call my physician from London.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “We are in the business of reducing visitors in the household, Fitzwilliam. Not increasing them!”

  And Mr. Darcy realized it was a lost cause. He would not overrule Mrs. Darcy without consequences he didn’t wish to pay.

  Chapter 3

  A newly-painted, well-sprung carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Gardiner townhome in Cheapside. Receiving silent approval from her aunt, Mary Bennet practically leaped from the vehicle to rush into the foyer.

  "Has the post arrived?" she asked excitedly.

  Kline, the butler, nodded. "In the care of your uncle, Miss Bennet."

  Mary's mouth twitched at her new moniker. Since news of Jane's marriage to Lord Hamilton in Scotland, the third Bennet daughter who had spent all of her social life as "Miss Mary," still found the name more fitting of her eldest sister who had held the position the longest. But the staff of the Gardiner townhome had taken Kline's lead. Even Mary’s maid now called her Miss Bennet.

  "Thank you, I will go see if there's any news from Newcastle," Mary said as she removed her gloves and bonnet and handed them to Kline, who would no doubt see that they made it to her maid's care.

  Upon entering her uncle's study, she bestowed a peck of affection on the cheek of a jovial Edward Gardiner as a greeting. He craned his neck for signs of his wife, but Mary remained impatient.

  "Any letters for me?"

  Edward Gardiner sat up straighter in his chair, knocking over his walking stick that both he and Mary reached for at the same time. She managed to grasp it first and gingerly handed it to her uncle. Edward scowled.