Author's Notes: Real Fitzwilliams and real Cavendishes were related. Of course, once you take a look, it is fairly clear that most of the high ton was related, often many times over.
William Fitzwilliam, 4th Earl Fitzwilliam, married Lady Charlotte Ponsonby. Her mother was the former Lady Caroline Cavendish, daughter of William Cavendish, 3rd Duke of Devonshire.
The only tweaks I had to make to use them in my story were 1) give the earl sisters named Catherine and Anne, and 2) let the earldom heir, Charles William Fitzwilliam, be born in 1783 instead of 1786, and 3) give Charles a younger brother, our Colonel Fitzwilliam.
This will, of course, make Lady Caroline Ponsonby, nee Cavendish, our dear Colonel's grandmother.
AND, the answers to all the questions you just asked are yes.
Yes. He really was Earl Fitzwilliam, not Earl of Fitzwilliam.
Yes. They did name the poor boy William Fitzwilliam.
Yes. The 3rd Duke of Devonshire was also a William Cavendish. All first seven dukes were.
Henry's Legacy
Part 2
Chapter 1
Darcy House, April 11, 1812
"Darcy. Darcy. Are you all right?"
Darcy pulled himself back to the room. "Sorry, Cousin, my mind wandered."
"Hmm," replied Fitzwilliam. Something was wrong here. Darcy had not been himself for months. It was worse at Rosings. Even worse on the trip back to London. And, if it was possible, things had just gone downhill. If Fitzwilliam was right, the something wrong had a name, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. If things did not change soon, Fitzwilliam would have to press for answers. He sincerely hoped that Darcy was not deeply in love with Miss Bennet. The woman had made it clear that she did not like Darcy.
"I was saying, Darcy, that my mother's mother was a Cavendish."
Darcy moaned. For the moment, he had forgotten that.
"I am sure that mother and father intend to travel to Derby for the funeral, along with half the ton, probably. I need to head home. May I borrow a carriage?"
"Of course Fitzwillam. Send a note later with your plans." With that, Darcy headed out of the room and up the stairs. He needed to reach the privacy of his rooms.
Darcy shakily poured himself a brandy, set it down on the table and fell into his chair. After a few minutes, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.
She is even related to the Fitzwilliams. She is a Cavendish!
It does not matter. Even if she was daughter of the Duke himself, how could she so cavalierly dismiss me! I am Fitzwilliam Darcy! Mine is an ancient family! I am the Master of Pemberley, not some country parson with my hat in my hand.
I have every right to be proud!
"Your arrogance, your conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others."
No! I do nothing but care for others. It is my whole life! I was caring for Bingley, too. Surely she can see that.
"You are the last man..."
Oh, Lord. She does not love me. She loathes me. My Elizabeth, my wife, refused me.
Darcy drowned in his tortured vanity and his broken heart, long past dinner and into the night, until exhaustion gave way to troubled sleep.
Longbourn, April 11, 1812
Fanny Bennet awoke slowly and looked around her room. Mary dozed in a chair by the fire. Fanny lay back against her pillows. So, he is dead. What shall become of me now? It is that girl. And she refused to marry Collins! If only she had been a son. Then I would be safe. If she had not come at all, I would still be safe.. She interfered! She is why he left me.
Longbourn, December 28, 1791
Beautiful little Jane, all Cavendish blond hair and Cavendish blue eyes, had played happily in Henry's drawing room that afternoon. She had been taken away a few hours ago. Her Gardiner relations took her home with them. Said it was better that she not hear the screaming. Henry knew his household was ill equipped to keep the toddler overnight. It would also have meant her nurse in the house.
So, alone, Henry paced. He worried for Fanny. He worried for the new child. Finally, Riddle came. Henry had a daughter. If Henry wished to come over to the master's chambers in the main house, once mother and child were settled, Riddle would bring the babe to him.
Riddle handed him the wrapped bundle. Henry took it carefully and settled himself into a chair. When he had first held Jane, he was very nervous, completely unsure how to handle something so fragile. Henry was more confident now. He had experience.
The baby continued to sleep comfortably in his arms. He looked down at his new daughter. My child.
This girl did not have blond Cavendish hair. Darker brown, like the Greys.
Then, she opened her eyes. Big, wide dark eyes looked intensely into Henry's own.
Henry could not remember his mother. She had died before he was two. But something deep inside Henry must have remembered. Those were his mother's eyes looking up at him.
Henry was deeply, tenderly drawn to this new life in his arms.
Clapham Common, April 11, 1812
Elizabeth sat near her father, hands folded in her lap. There was a pause between callers. Tea was on the table, growing cold.
By the time she arrived yesterday, Appleby had already washed, dressed and laid out her father. Elizabeth felt the loss in her hands themselves. They, her hands, had needed to do that for Papa, a last act of love, an expression of respect, a tribute to the worldly remains of his now gone soul, something. Her hands ached with the loss.
But her mind could not begrudge Appleby's having done it. Elizabeth knew he felt her father's death as keenly as she did. She had the doctor slip him a little laudanum last night. Appleby would otherwise have no rest. She would have to find the man a place, something to do, in her own house or he would just waste away.
My own house. Where would that be? She had five different houses where her bedroom and sitting room were always waiting for her. Yet, it now seemed that having her father at Clapham Common was the anchor for everything. She felt adrift.
Then she looked over at her Aunt Amelia. "But I am not alone."
Elizabeth watched the elegant lady. Lady Amabel sat straight-backed, busily adding black lace to something. At this moment, Elizabeth wished that she could, if not embroider or knit, at least sew. She had never before lamented the absence of these womanly arts. Now, she needed an occupation.
Then, Elizabeth almost choked as she remembered last night.
Aunt Amelia had refused to leave. Sometime after midnight, she fell asleep. Elizabeth tucked a blanket around her.
Elizabeth was finally alone with her father. She sat for a long time, the house growing quiet around her. Then, she stood up and walked over to Henry. Oh, how still he was. Elizabeth bent over and kissed him on the forehead. She stepped back, shocked. He was so cold. Oh, heavens. He was dead. Really dead. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
Grosvenor Street, April 11, 1812
When Charles Bingley had read the morning paper, his thoughts had instantly flown to Jane. Poor, sweet Jane. How she must be suffering.
Is she here, in London? Henry Cavendish was to be laid to rest in Derby in a few days. The family would start the long journey, tomorrow, with a procession through London. Respects could be paid this afternoon at Clapham Common. Should I go there?
In the end, he had decided to call on Will at Devonshire House. The Duke had not been home. Bingley had left his card and condolences for the family. He had not been brave enough to ask after Jane or even Miss Elizabeth. Nor had he been brave enough to go to Clapham Common. It had been four and a half months since he had seen her. How can I face her now? And, nothing has changed. She will never be mine.
He sat in his study with the door closed. It seemed to be his standard place these days. Well, at least his business was not being neglected anymore. Smiling, happy Charles Bingley was lost somewhere. This Charles Bingley was seriously looking into his concerns.
He laughed to himself. How would Caroline feel if she knew that they not only came from trade, but that they were still in trade? Up to our ears.
He shifted his attention to his desk. The Felling Mine. That partnership was earning a handsome profit. I should visit the mine. I will visit the mine. Bingley was overdue at Scarborough. He would visit both this summer.
Meryton, April 11, 1812
Philips sat in the Highlander Pub, nursing his ale. So, the old goat was finally dead. Philips still bristled from the ridiculous creature having stolen Fanny. She was mine! She was part and parcel of his taking the position with old Gardiner. He had plans for all that flesh. And to become stuck with the bony, ugly sister!
Well, there was the situation at hand to consider now. There had to be a way. Philips could almost smell the money to be made. True, he had not been able to profit from it years ago. It was a mistake to try what he did. But Henry was dead now. What would the will say? All connections are still to be kept secret? Yes. They are. Henry Bennet's body will arrive tomorrow. I will lay good odds that the casket is empty. Who will want to pay for my silence?
Who are the heirs? Perhaps another way will present itself.
At that moment, the door of the pub opened and a loud group of red coats came in. Philips spotted that weasel Wickham among them. Too completely charming, that one. Philips had recognized the flashes of cold calculation behind Wickham's eyes. And Fanny's youngest worshiped him. Well, perhaps the seed of another way had just presented itself.
The soldiers were now before Philips. One of the young, fresh faces was offering sincere condolences on the loss of his brother. Philips rose and thanked the men, adding "Gentlemen, please join me. Let me buy a round and we will toast my dear departed brother."
Hunsford, April 11, 1812
Charlotte Collins lay unsleeping. They were to depart for Hertfordshire early tomorrow morning.
She was sure that their condolences would be unwelcome. Mr. Collins, however, would not be gainsaid. He was now the Master of Longbourn and he considered it his duty. He would attend the burial of his predecessor. Charlotte would do all she could to moderate the pain that the appearance of the Collins would cause. However, whether or not any of them were ready for it, the time had arrived. Charlotte Collins was now the Mistress of Longbourn and the Bennets could no longer call it home.
Her thoughts returned to a familiar face, Mary Bennet. Every fiber of Charlotte's being longed to approach Mary, to ask her to stay at Longbourn as Charlotte's companion, to take care of her. Poor Mary, lost in a sea of beautiful sisters.
Charlotte knew it could never be. Somehow, this scandal had laid, unseen, for almost twenty years. Charlotte thought, on occasion, that her mother might be aware. However, Lady Lucas might look at Mary intensely from time to time, but nothing out of the ordinary. No, her mother did not know.
Perhaps it was because Charlotte had been careful never to stay too close to Mary in company. Her friendships with Lizzy and Jane made that easy. Or could it be that Charlotte was so much older or because their mothers dressed them so differently or was it the ways they did their hair or the fact that Mary wore glasses?
Whatever the reason, it had not been seen.
Charlotte had known herself lucky to have secured Mr. Collins. She was 27 and so very plain.
Mary was plain in exactly the same way. Their jaws were too strong, their noses too large, their lips too thin, their hair almost the same dull brown shade. Both half sisters had inherited the same strong Lucas traits.
It had made them both so very plain.
Road to Longbourn, July 15, 1793
The carriage sped toward Longbourn. Henry had left as soon as there was daylight. The express from Mr. Hill had arrived after dark yesterday. Mrs. Bennet's time had come. The mid-wife was with her at the estate.
Henry was frightened. He could not remember ever being this sort of terrified. There had been a feeling of fear when both Jane and Elizabeth were born, but nothing like this. Henry was a man of science. How many conversations had he heard on this subject? Childbirth was a killer of women, especially when something went wrong near the end of confinement. It was very often fatal.
Henry knew at this moment that he loved Fanny. He had known from the first that he was grateful to her. She had given him pleasures beyond what he had imagined. Fanny had done so without any censure of Henry's needs for dark and for no conversation.
Then, she had given him treasures. His beautiful little Cavendish Jane and his heart of hearts, his little Grey Elizabeth.
Now Fanny's time had come. It was too early. From Henry's calculations, it had to be nearly a month and a half too soon.
What would he find when he arrived at Longbourn? Did Fanny still live? Was this new child, tiny from its early birth, still clinging to life? How long would it last? A few hours? A day, maybe two? Was he about to bury his wife and a child?
Longbourn was quiet when they got there. Riddle went in first, to clear the women from Henry's path and to ascertain the situation.
When Riddle returned to the carriage, he was smiling.
"You have a new daughter, sir. Born early this morning. Both mother and daughter are doing well."
Henry was elated. They live! "May I see the child?"
"Yes, sir. I have cleared a way to the nursery. When we knock on the door, the wet nurse will move to the adjoining room until you leave."
Henry exited the carriage. He found himself standing in front of the nursery door, waiting while Riddle knocked. Henry did not remember entering the house or climbing the stairs.
Riddle looked inside to make sure the nurse was gone. He nodded to Henry and opened the door fully for him. Henry walked slowly over to the basket.
His hands gently undid the blankets and he looked down at the sleeping child. It was a plump, rosy, healthy girl. She was large, much larger than Jane or Elizabeth had been.
Kent House, April 11, 1812
Lady Amabel had known for years that Elizabeth was Henry's heir. Oh, he had loved Jane, but it was the little force of nature Lizzy that truly held his heart. Sometimes Amabel thought that Elizabeth was Henry's only true connection to another human being. Oh, he had his Royal Society. He had Amabel and the Cavendishes. But, Henry was never truly warm with anyone except Elizabeth. Amabel often wondered what it had been like for him with his wife.
Now he is gone. She knew that Elizabeth did not yet fathom what this would mean. Amabel sighed. I will never be able to present her in the way she deserves. Those dreams are over. Instead of her day at court followed by a spectacular ball, Elizabeth was to meet the ton at her father's funeral. Instead of glittering family jewels and a magnificent white gown, she would be unadorned and dressed all in black.
Not just that. Elizabeth was now an extremely wealthy woman. She had been hidden all her life and she would now be a very public figure. Many things would have to change. Elizabeth was not going to like any number of those changes.
For one thing, she would no longer be able to avoid hiring a true companion. Old Mrs. Mackey had that role in name only. Then again, her previous position as Elizabeth's governess had also been very much in name only. Elizabeth needed a real companion, not just someone who lived at Devonshire House. Propriety must be observed. The old cats would watch Elizabeth's every move. And new security would be needed. Elizabeth would not like that either.
But, mostly, she was not going to like what would happen when the ton found out she was the heir. She would be fawned over and she would be hunted.
Devonshire House, April 11, 1812
Norris opened the door for his master. The footmen removed the Duke's hat, gloves and coat. "Good evening, Your Grace."
"Is Miss Elizabeth here?"
"No, sir. She spends the night at Kent House."
"And Miss Jane?"
"Still in Hertfordshire, I believe. Mr. Blevins has had word from her."
Will nodded. It was late and he was tired. It had been a long day. "Please send Blevins to me. And see if Mrs. Hawkins can spare a little cold supper."
Will had turned to head for his study when Norris' voice called him back.
"Begging pardon, Your Grace. Young Higginbotham, from Higginbotham and Smith, has been here twice today. He understood that you were to travel to Derby tomorrow and he begs a private moment of your time."
"Tonight?"
"Yes, Your Grace. If you are at all able to see him, he asked that we send word. No matter the time."
"Very well. I will see him." Our attorneys. Uncle Henry's, too.
Will poured himself a glass of wine and sat down behind his desk. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples. The Crown had wanted his knowledge of Russia and her politics. Knowing that Will was leaving for Derbyshire, they had questioned him for most of two days.
Will knew that Blevins would have handled everything in his absence. There was a knock at the door.
"Come."
"Ah, Blevins. How do we stand?"
"I sent an express to the Archbishop. I told him you would not arrive until the evening of the fifteenth, but that the funeral and entombment would proceed on the sixteenth as planned. We should really not delay another day. As it is, I have taken the liberty of having Mr. Henry removed from Clapham Common this evening and prepared for his journey. The casket in the procession tomorrow will be empty. Mr. Henry will leave at dawn, on ice, for a faster trip."
Will nodded. It was well done by Blevins. Poor Uncle Henry would be too many days getting to his tomb as it was.
"You received the procession map I sent over today?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Yesterday the Regent had interrupted Will's meeting with the men from military intelligence. Prince George expressed all of Great Britain's condolences at the death of Uncle Henry. His Highness insisted on a great procession through London as the funeral party left for Derby. A notice of it was added to the papers for today and a map would appear in the morning. It meant nearly full loss of the first day of travel. They would not get much past London tomorrow.
"I expect, as it was with your father, that many carriages will fall in behind us as we make our way through town. I sent men ahead, armed with coin, to make sure the inns on our stops stay free for all the travelers. In the morning we will send wagons with extra supplies ahead of us along the route. That should ensure enough food and drink for all in the caravan."
"And Miss Jane?"
"I left her letter on your desk. One also arrived for Miss Elizabeth and I had it sent over to her. Miss Jane feels she must attend the Longbourn services. Gardiner and Philips are still handling those."
"And the body?"
"It cost more than we thought. Apparently the enthusiasm of the studiers of anatomy has placed a premium on unclaimed bodies. It is done, though. Cleaned, dressed with Mr. Henry's clothes and some personal items, and in its sealed coffin. We will put out that Mr. Henry Bennet took a long fall down a staircase when his heart failed. The coffin will remain closed."
"And Bennet's funeral is when?"
"The day after tomorrow. However, the reading of Henry Bennet's will is not set."
"Well, Higginbotham the younger is coming here tonight. Wants a private word with me. Let us decide how to handle that while he is here. Now, what else do I need to know?"
"Mr. Petrie is still missing."
Will raised his eyebrows in question. Blevins continued, "I thought he might have escaped with the silver, but it appears he is just on his annual holiday. When he had not been found yet this morning, I sent men, under your seal, to the banks. All the funds and the vaults appear intact. Now, he will not be able to get at any of it if he tries."
Will shook his head. "Petrie is, I believe, Henry's man through and through. I would be very surprised if he tries to steal. What have you found out about his holiday?"
"He seems to go every year, alone and for ten days. This time, no one knows where."
"You have someone watching his house?"
"Yes sir, and going through his papers."
"Good. What else?"
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Will welcomed his supper. It was warm and looked wonderful. Mrs. Hawkins was a gem.
"A complete list of everyone we have notified is on your desk. Miss Elizabeth and Lady Hume-Campbell reviewed it earlier. Your sisters sent word that they would join the procession tomorrow."
Before Blevins could continue, a knock interrupted them again.
"Your Grace, Mr. Higginbotham is here."
Will looked longingly at his supper. "Send him in. Blevins, he asked for a private word. I will send for you when we discuss the Bennet will."
"Very good, Your Grace." With a bow, Blevins went out and Higginbotham came in.
"Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace."
Will nodded.
Clearing his throat, Higginbotham nervously started, "My father and I are privy to the contents of Mr. Henry Cavendish's will. He completely changed his will in 1796. Since then, Mr. Cavendish made only one change, back in 1798."
Will waited patiently for the man to get to his point.
""Your Grace, you are named as Guardian and Trustee. We felt you must know the contents before the reading. Given his situation, his wife and the number of children, the will is most odd. If you are not already aware, then you should be forewarned."
Again, Higginbotham paused. Will nodded for him to continue.
"Miss Elizabeth is so very young. Still, her father may have confided his reasoning to her. In case he did not, we felt it imperative that Mr. Petrie be present at the reading. Perhaps he understands. Sir, we cannot find Mr. Petrie."
After stopping for a breath, he went on. "I fear Miss Elizabeth to be in ignorance of all this. Here is a summary."
Higginbotham handed a paper to Will, who read it through. Will sat silently, deep in thought, for some time.
"I am afraid, Higginbotham, that it would be good to have Mr. Petrie. We must, at least, postpone any reading of the Bennet will at Longbourn. We have already put out that Miss Elizabeth is ill and not able to travel. That funeral will proceed without her.
"I want you to come up with something fine and legal sounding for a delay in reading that will. Make it really hold the force of law if you can. Maybe you can use Miss Elizabeth's purported illness. Something about all the heirs being present. I do not know. It is your field. Are you to travel to Chatsworth for the will reading?"
"No, Your Grace. My father will do that."
"Good. Get the delay in the Bennet will reading to Gardiner and Philips. They are in Meryton. They can let Collins and the women know. Make it strong. Gardiner will not be a problem, but I do not know much about Philips. He, too, is in the law. Better go yourself. We will have Blevins send someone with you, someone who looks persuasive, in case you need it. I want everything quiet on that front until we are ready to handle it."
Will pulled the bell cord and asked for Blevins.
"Oh, Higginbotham, what change did Uncle Henry make in 1798?"
"He put in the provision that Miss Jane cannot touch her funds until marriage or until age 30."
Will thought for a moment.
"I will send someone to you, very early tomorrow morning. I want copies of all the wills that Uncle Henry made. I want them with me before the funeral procession begins."
"They will be ready, Your Grace."
Blevins knocked and entered.
"Blevins. We do not need to worry about the Bennet will reading for now. Higginbotham here will come up with a reason for a delay. However, I need you to find a man or two to accompany him to Hertfordshire tomorrow. They should not need to do anything except be there and look intimidating. Also, send someone to Higginbotham's office early tomorrow to pick up a package for me."
Two hours later, Will was strolling up and down the family portrait gallery. It was his place to walk and think.
So, Lizzy's concerns about hedgerows were real. Uncle Henry had meant it to be carried out, too. There was no other conclusion. He had named the Duke of Devonshire as guardian. When the will was made, that was Will's father. His father would have made sure that no penny went anywhere other than where Uncle Henry intended. And then, just to close a possible loophole, Uncle Henry had gone back and put chains around Jane's money. Francis Bennet and those girls were to have truly meager funds and nothing else.
He was also sure Uncle Henry had intended Elizabeth to know the truth before he died. There was no conclusion other than that, either. He was giving Elizabeth complete freedom when she came of age. Why had not he told her? Was he waiting for her to be older? Had he left her a letter they had not found? Was Petrie supposed to tell her?
Wait. Maybe Will's father had known. Had he left Will instructions on the matter? Instructions Will had not seen? It did not seem likely. Were there notes in his journals?
Will would have to take the 1796 journals with him tomorrow. Maybe there was an answer there.
And why was such a paltry sum settled on Fanny? Will would have to remember to get a copy of the marriage settlement from Higginbotham.
And what had happened in 1796? Why was Uncle Henry so vicious with this? Part of it was as clear as could be. Those three younger girls could not belong to Henry. Still, there had to be something more. Uncle Henry was kind to stray cats. He would not throw a woman and three young girls out onto the street, no matter the woman's crimes. Especially not a woman for whom he was responsible.
But, Will had no sympathy for Mrs. Bennet. It was long ago and they had only been children, but Will remembered. It was right after Lizzy had returned from Hertfordshire. They were exploring the attics. Lizzy's sleeve had caught on a rough edge and had torn away. Will had seen all the bruises. Lizzy begged him not to tell. She said it was all her fault. She had disobeyed her mother. Will had instantly hated Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth, though, would be desperate for some understanding here. These were her sisters and her mother. And Will, hatred or not, did need to understand. He now stood, bound by duty, to honor Uncle Henry's wishes. It was all in Will's hands, at least until the end of the year.
Kent House, April 11, 1812
Elizabeth was so tired, but sleep would not come. She put her hand under her pillow and felt for her letter. She felt comforted when she held it, as though clutching it could somehow ease the pain she had inflicted on him.
How could she have been so vain and proud? How could she have let one comment color her whole picture of a man? The comment had not even been for her ears. Yes. He was arrogant, proud and sometimes rude. No. She did not regret her refusal. But, she, who prided herself on reading character, had painted him with the blackest possible brush. She had not done that with Lady Catherine. She had not done that with the old Duke. She had not done that with so many people. But, she had done it with Mr. Darcy. All because he wounded her pride. She was "not handsome enough to tempt him."
She should have forgiven or at least tried to understand. A wealthy man in a sea of strangers, all of them talking about his income. How often had Will spoken of being hunted? And poor Mr. Darcy, what if he had come to the country to escape his thoughts of Ramsgate? Cheerful Mr. Bingley had probably dragged him to that assembly. What had Mr. Darcy said? He could not converse easily with strangers? How miserable he must have been and Bingley had been pressing him to dance!
Aside from that one comment, what did she really have to hold against him? She had lately been much in his company. She had seen no evidence of harsh or dissolute behavior.
Honestly, she did not know this man at all. She had been cruel. Her own pained vanity had led her to crush and wound him, in an unforgivable manner. And. arrogant as he was, he had been right about the impropriety of her mother and her sisters.
Yet, he had still come to her in love. Yes, he thought his dignity would suffer with offering for a country miss with such a family. But he did come. He did offer. He must have been very much in love with her to overcome all his objections.
Even after her scathing rejection, he had ended his letter with 'God Bless You. '
She had treated his heart with contempt. She was ashamed.
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