A Spring Society Page 4

  Still, as Mrs. Reynolds waited for the tea tray to arrive and instructed a junior maid to remain with Mrs. Darcy until Mr. Darcy returned, she left her mistress’ rooms with the intention to send one of the hall boys to inquire about the location of the midwife. With any luck and the blessing of Providence, no visit would be needed tonight, but Mrs. Reynolds did not wish to take any chances when it came to the health and safety of her family.

  Chapter 4

  The second-floor drawing room stood remarkably transformed thanks to the efforts of Kitty Bennet, the Viscount Ashbourne, and numerous members of the Pemberley staff. Standing near a ladder, Kitty handed up the custom mobile she made the previous day with bits of glass from broken bottles from a trash heap. She had not collected the materials herself, but she had paid the two hallboys keen for the task a half penny each for the excellent service.

  The footman above listened to her instructions as he tried to hang the mobile from a makeshift proscenium arch they had devised over the entryway between the drawing room and long hallway to the library.

  "A little higher, if you please?" Kitty squinted up and hastily placed a hand on the wig threatening to slip off her head as the poor footman stretched as high as he could. "That's perfect!"

  "I completely agree," Robert Fitzwilliam leaned down to whisper into Kitty's ear, causing the young woman to blush scarlet. Ever the gentleman, Robert withdrew as swiftly as he had leaned in for the flirtation. Kitty whirled around and gave him a frown.

  "Wherever did you find that marvel? I've never seen anything like it." Robert pretended not to notice Kittys' displeasure at his attention and looked up at the bits of blue, green, and brown glasses slowly swirling in a hypnotic orbit above.

  "I did not find it. I made it." Kitty left him to address the maids arranging the costumes for the various players, and Robert followed in her wake. With little more than an hour until dinner, they were running out of time to complete their preparations for the grand show after the meal. Kitty's writing had only ever been read aloud with Georgiana or a few members of her family. Tonight, they would be performed, which was far more sophistication than she had hoped for.

  "Surely not. Who broke the glass?"

  Kitty fluttered a large saffron wrap that would represent the "bee" character learning the hard lesson of vanity in her third folly.

  "Again, I'm afraid I'm guilty, m'lord," Kitty said, as she blew out a breath and made her swiftly growing bangs dance along her forehead. A few more weeks and she would hardly ever have to wear the wig at all. Once the house was far less full, she'd be free to remain in her room and write in peace.

  "No, no, none of this m'lord business. I've made you cross, and I apologize." Robert reached out to gently press Kitty's elbow. She shivered but caught the eye of the young maid still standing there, and remembered her sister's words.

  "I value our intellectual exchanges far too much to think you cannot know what you do. But why? Why do you persist?" Kitty slowly turned her head in the Viscount's direction. "Can we not just be cousins with a shared interest in literature? I am not a debutante in a ball and shall not be this year."

  "My, you Bennet ladies do speak plainly."

  "Careful, I can throw a figurine as well as my sister Jane," Kitty threatened, reminding the Viscount of the unfortunate house party at Matlock where that dolt Torrington pressed his suit of Jane Bennet and received an attack of bric-a-brac for his crimes of assault.

  Robert Fitzwilliam retreated a step as Kitty eyed the props around her, seeking a fine candidate to teach him a lesson.

  "I merely wish to be friends."

  "Then be my friend and resist teasing and flirtations, sir." Catherine Bennet jutted out her chin in a near perfect imitation of her elder sister, Elizabeth, and the Viscount took a breath.

  "You are listening too much to my mother."

  Kitty moved away to the first row of chairs placed especially for the performance to keep the distance between them. "I have not spoken to your mother—" Kitty stopped abruptly as Mr. Darcy came through the proscenium arch to stand very confusedly upon her stage. As he gazed up and down and finally spied Kitty, a grim expression shadowed his countenance.

  "I'm afraid there's been a cancellation of tonight's festivities, but your sister made me promise you would not give up hope but instead keep the decor in place for tomorrow night." Mr. Darcy glanced over his shoulder as he took stock of the remarkable transformation and knew his wife would so dearly love to see her sister's hard work.

  "Is there something wrong?" Kitty asked.

  "Wrong? No, your sister has had some pains," Mr. Darcy began, but as he turned around to speak to Kitty properly, he barely caught a glimpse of her boldly-dyed teal smock retreating through the doors in the far corner of the room.

  Forgetting she was dressed in the first costume of the night, Kitty scowled as she huffed up the stairs, irritated she would ruin one of the surprises. But care of Elizabeth won out. Kitty burst into Mrs. Darcy's suite of rooms to find her sister smiling, sitting up in bed, and playing a game of cards with a kitchen maid. Upon Kitty’s entry, the maid stood quickly and, and Elizabeth laughed.

  "Oh do not worry, Kitty won't tell Mrs. Reynolds we are playing a game of vingt-et-un. Besides, how else are you to practice your sums?" Mrs. Darcy reassured the maid, then addressed her sister. "I'm so sorry it was postponed."

  “But you, you look well!" Kitty exclaimed.

  "Of course I do, whyever should I not?" Elizabeth waved her hands, and the maid removed the tray from the bed so that Kitty could reach her sister. With a nod, the maid left her mistress.

  "But Fitzwilliam said, he said you had pains," Kitty looked down at the elegantly embroidered coverlet on Lizzie's bed and traced a delicate rosebud. "And I worried it was time and Lydia. . ." Kitty finally met her sister's gaze. Elizabeth held an expression of complete compassion.

  "There is nothing to worry about. I am not the same as Lydia," Elizabeth explained.

  "Because you are married," Kitty reasoned.

  Elizabeth frowned and then looked about the room, relieved to see they were alone. Her room had become a hub of activity that evening, the very least of her wishes. "No, not because I am married. We learned too late that Lydia did not take good care of herself."

  Kitty bit her lower lip, but when her elder sister nodded, she spoke her worrying thoughts. "And that is what killed her?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "No dearest, Lydia did not die on purpose nor was she solely responsible. We never know these things, even the midwife said, until after. And we must always remember that the Lord has a plan even if we cannot fathom or reason it."

  Kitty's costume jingled and jangled as she moved closer to her sister for an embrace. This made both girls giggle.

  “What’s making that heavenly sound?” Elizabeth asked. Proudly, Kitty showed the small bells she has sewn into the hem.

  "But I can't tell you what they're for, that would ruin the surprise."

  "Oh, we mustn't do that," Elizabeth said, yawning despite her wish to not be so very sleepy. She had just finished an entire pot of chamomile tea.

  Realizing she had a need she'd prefer to complete in private, and then desired to rest so she might talk with her husband after dinner, Elizabeth gave her sister a charge. "Will you please help your brother through this meal? I'm afraid I gave him quite a fright, and you can tell him all of the pains have left now. Mrs. Reynolds was absolutely correct."

  Kitty obediently repeated the message. "All of the pains are gone, and Mrs. Reynolds was correct?"

  When Elizabeth nodded, Kitty nearly bolted from the room to see to her task, forgetting to say goodbye to her sister, who merely laughed it off.

  Elizabeth thought it was nice to remember there were once days when not everyone in a household bowed and curtsied to her just to enter or exit a room.

  A packet of letters clutched in her hand, Lady Catherine De Bourgh stood in the doorway of her daughter's room. Leaning heavily on her walki
ng stick, she clucked her tongue to attract her daughter Anne's attention. Looking up from her book as she lounged on a long sofa by the candlelight, Anne frowned.

  "Where are your trunks? I specifically asked your maid to pack your things this afternoon. I will not tolerate such insolence." To demonstrate her frustrations, Lady Catherine lifted her walking stick and banged the tip hard on the floor. However, she took a step forward at the same time on the faded Persians lining the room, so the resulting sound never rang to her satisfaction. Instead, Lady Catherine ground her stick into the carpet fibers as she grimaced.

  "I'm not going. I'm sorry, Mother, but your plans for me to marry Cousin Darcy never came to fruition." Anne looked away and her expression of stubbornness melted into a dreamy, far off look. "I wish to have a proper season in London." Anne returned to reading her book and smiled. She regularly charged her maid, Lucy, to visit the circulating library in Hunsford. Anne paid the patronage and Lucy brought the novels that Anne so dearly loved to read. Her latest had featured heroines enjoying the height of London's fashion and balls while avoiding scheming relations after their dowries.

  Lady Catherine scoffed. "A season in London? Have you any idea what a young lady such as yourself will face in the ballrooms of London's most elite? Your stamina simply will not allow it."

  "But I might try. I've been practicing my dance steps." Anne began to cough as her excitement in speaking of such things caused her to inhale her own saliva. But her mother took it as a clear sign of her position being the only correct one. Anne was simply too weak and feeble for a London season.

  "Do you think I have enjoyed all these years dedicated to your care? In my day, the parties and dinners were all a young lady had to look forward to. My sister and I never sat out a reel as our cards were always full. On nights we gave our feet a rest, we attended the theater in my father's box." Lady Catherine appeared slightly misty-eyed as she reminisced, but then thought about how that same theater box was now in the possession of her ungrateful brother, the Earl of Matlock. And this naturally brought back memories of him practically throwing her out of his townhouse when their nephew Darcy married that bit of muslin, Elizabeth Bennet.

  Her anger returned, Lady Catherine found Anne's lack of preparedness even more irksome. "Get that silly maid of yours to pack your things at once. If you are not ready come first light, I shall send her off without notice or a reference."

  "But Mother, you said Cousin Darcy would wish to marry me, and he did not. What makes you think that Cousin Robert will want to marry me?" Anne petulantly crossed her arms. Her pout amused her mother as Lady Catherine suddenly recognized the actual issue at hand.

  "You think there is love involved in this business of marriage. Oho, I see it now. From all of those novels that girl sneaks up to your room." Lady Catherine extended an accusatory finger. Anne's eyes flicked to the pointed finger bejeweled with a large ruby ring.

  Anne opened her mouth in shock, and Lady Catherine cackled. "There is nothing that occurs in my household that I am not aware. Maybe I shall dismiss this maid after all."

  "Oh please, it is not her fault. Not Lucy. She was only doing as I asked and I won't ask it of her again." Anne gazed down at her hands and wrung them with worry. "It is only, I don't wish to be jilted again."

  Lady Catherine stepped further into the room, practically crushing the letters from her banker and informants in London that corroborated the stories from the Darcys' former housekeeper. The Matlocks were indeed in dire straits, and if the next shipment of wool was lost at sea, there was a good chance that Matlock itself would have to be sold off to the highest bidder. This was not to be borne.

  "Jilted? Jilted?" Lady Catherine repeated, astounded that her dim-witted daughter could take such a dramatic position. "Is that what you thought happened?"

  Anne de Bourgh bit her lower lip and nodded.

  "Don't be so insipid. My dear, marriage is a business transaction. I did not hold enough leverage over Fitzwilliam, as the man is cold as a stone over the memory of his mother. But I assure you that I hold more than enough to incite that whelp of an heir to my father's title to see reason." Licking her lips, Lady Catherine lessened her grip on the letters and looked down at the sorry state of the parchment. Placing them on Anne's bureau, she smoothed them out. Considering each one while her daughter looked on, she refolded them carefully so that they might pack into her travel case most efficiently.

  Anne's voice could barely be heard as she so very quietly asked if her mother was selling her to the highest bidder. Lady Catherine's head turned sharply in Anne's direction.

  "I beg your pardon, would you repeat that nonsense you just uttered?" Lady Catherine challenged her daughter.

  Anne cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter, again pulling from the dramatic novels she loved so dearly. "I asked if you are not merely selling me to the highest bidder."

  Lady Catherine sighed. She had kept this child too sheltered, and now her head was filled with the most fanciful of ideas. But there was no question of whether Anne must marry or not, there had to be someone to look after her after the Lord saw fit to claim her mother. And Lady Catherine would not allow just anyone to get their hands on the de Bourgh fortune.

  "This is how it is done. Either the highest bidder in a London ballroom or to a man of the family that I know will not mistreat you. I only have your best interests at heart." Spying tears beginning to well in the corner of her daughter's eyes, Lady Catherine grew uncomfortable at the display of female sentiment. Many a woman knew how to get their own way with their tears, but Lady Catherine had never resorted to such tactics. She found them petty and overdone.

  Turning her back to Anne, she reached forward to pull the cord in the corner. The bell ringing below would summon that fool Lucy to tend to her daughter. Lady Catherine picked up her letters to leave the room. But before she left to ensure her own belongings were packed properly, she decided to share one last piece of motherly affection for her daughter to reflect upon.

  "Shed your melancholy, girl. When I'm done, you'll be the future Countess of Matlock. And then you may participate in as many follies of London or wherever else you and your Viscount Ashbourne decide to live." Seeing her daughter sniff at this new revelation, Lady Catherine felt a bit of satisfaction that at least her daughter would fall in line with her plans.

  As she walked to her own suite deeper in the east wing of the Gothic-styled house, she reviewed her plans. First, a brief stop in London to confirm in person the letters as Lady Catherine De Bourgh refused to look the fool once more. Then they would hie on to Pemberley where she was confident her treacherous family had all assembled. Someone needed to bring this family back in line, and if her brother would not do so as earl, then she would have no choice but to save the family's legacy. Her father would have expected no less from his eldest daughter.

  Chapter 5

  Late spring in Scotland brought the much-needed reprieve from winter's cold breath. Jane Hamilton worked in the kitchen gardens of Starvet House to oversee plans for the herbs and vegetables. She sat her ward, Robert Bennet, the orphaned, natural child of the late Lydia Bennet and George Wickham, on a blanket near the plot of dirt with his nurse, a young maid named Alice. Alice turned her head for one moment to fuss over the items in a basket for both Jane and Robin's comfort when the babe’s movement caught Jane's attention.

  "I was asking for only a few vegetables that are more common . . . Oh!" Jane forgot her words to the head gardener as Robin, with a look of determination across his brow, pushed his bottom straight up with his hands on the ground. Then he pushed his torso up with his little arms. Reaching his hands out for the only woman he knew as a mother, Robin took his first awkward steps on the uneven ground of the garden and promptly fell back into the dirt.

  Then he cried out.

  Jane rushed to the little lad, just three-quarters of a year old, and laughed. "Darling, you are not supposed to walk yet. You've just begun to crawl!" And so he had, keeping
both of his nurses and Jane and Jane's husband, Lord Graham Hamilton, quite busy when he was in their care. He crawled, pulled himself up on furniture, and was always reaching out for stray hair fallen from a bonnet or the curtains when he neared them.

  As soon as Jane picked him up, Robin ceased his fussing and squirmed and pushed against her. He did not wish to be held, but to be let free, so he could attempt his new trick once more.

  "Oh, there you go, you rascal," Jane said as she plumped him right back down on the blanket. A wagon drove around the lane in front of the house to the side gardens. Jane shaded her eyes as she tilted her chin up to see who came, but she had a good inkling as to whom it might be.

  "Whoa! Whoa!" Graham's booming baritone settled the ponies as he drove the cart a bit dangerously close to the picnic. Jane naturally placed herself between Robin and the steadying wagon. Graham stood upon the edge of the vehicle and smiled at his new wife, before crying with excitement.

  "There you go, lad! Walk to your Da!" Graham leaped down from the wagon and with one wide step, avoided a collision with Jane. He rolled to the ground just as little Robin fell once more and lifted the child above him as Robin giggled and shrieked. "Did you see that? He took his first steps!"

  Jane stood with her hands on her hips, genuinely enjoying the easy affection between her husband and the boy they had taken on together. But she was slightly put out that she had been usurped by the baby from receiving a proper greeting.

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but those are his second steps. He took his first steps to try to get to me," Jane boasted as she joined her two men on the blanket. Graham sat up with the baby cradled easily in his arms and leaned forward to kiss his lass.

  "Is that so? You rob a father of his glory?"