CHAPTER 21 - GOOD-BYES
The next few days were a flurry of letters and arrangements. Darcy wrote to Pemberley and issued a long list of instructions to his secretary, Ogden, who had travelled with him to Somersetshire. Jane wrote to Lord John, who responded immediately. And Elizabeth spoke to Jane about her plans.
"You are certain, Jane?"
"Yes, Lizzy. I am grateful to you and Mr. Darcy for your invitation, but Lord John and Lady Clementina are desperate to see Samuel. They have also asked me to make my home with them for the long term." Elizabeth knew that along with his townhouse and other properties, Lord John had a great country house in Essex, which formed his seat.
"And that is what you want?"
"Yes. Lord John said his home was so much more comfortable when I was there to see to the servants, and when Samuel was there to bring cheerfulness to the house. I can look after him and Lady Clementina, Lizzy. They are both of them elderly and in delicate health."
"It seems a pity, Jane, that you must go from serving Sir Henry to nursing his aunt and uncle. You are an independent, wealthy woman now. When will you be able to please yourself?"
"It would please me to be of service to two people who have been so kind to me, Lizzy. Do not worry for me."
Elizabeth sighed, but acquiesced. She knew there was no persuading Jane. It seemed to her that her sister had grown in confidence every day since coming to Somersetshire, and the news of Sir Henry's death had increased that. Jane would be firm where she believed herself to be right, even if Elizabeth did not understand her. Thinking of Sir Henry, she thought perhaps she had never understood her.
"But Lizzy," Jane broke in, "I would like to be with you for your confinement. If you will have me?"
Elizabeth hugged her with relief. "Oh, Jane! I did not want to ask, but I would like nothing more. Thank goodness you will be with me; I did not want to be alone."
"I do not think you could feel alone with Mr. Darcy in constant attendance," Jane teased her gently. She had noticed Darcy's devoted solicitousness of her sister.
"No, perhaps not," Elizabeth blushed and smiled. "How did I ever find him, Jane? I do not deserve him."
"I think you do," Jane smiled, then added more seriously, "He loves you very much, more than I thought it possible for any man to love a woman. I had not realized, Lizzy. I see now why you were unable to love Mr. Warford. I am sorry I ever suggested it to you."
"You could not have known."
"And yet I do pity Mr. Warford, Lizzy. I think his feelings were real, and why should they not be, considering the object?" Jane smiled sadly at her sister. "I hope he was not too disappointed. I wonder where he is now and whether either of us shall see him again."
As it happened, Jane's question received an answer the day after. Elizabeth was in the village to speak to Hannah's parents, to make arrangements for her to travel with Jane and Samuel, with whom she had been offered a permanent place. Hannah's parents had leapt on this opportunity for their daughter. Jacob had also been offered a place in the gardens or stables, with an opportunity to advance, but he had confessed himself most desirous of remaining by the sea, and entertained hopes of a career on it.
She was just coming out of their fishing hut when she looked up to see a familiar figure striding down the shingle toward her.
"Mr. Warford!" she coloured, remembering that she had not yet replied to his question.
"Mrs. Smith," he bowed, looking grave. "They tell me that you will be leaving us."
"Yes, very soon I believe. We are only waiting for some arrangements to be confirmed."
He nodded and fell into step with her.
"I am sorry -" said Elizabeth.
"There is no need to -" he started.
They both stopped at once. "Please," she said.
"I was only going to say that there is no need for you to explain. I understood your answer when you did not write." He had left her a note asking her to write him if she could give him a positive answer, and enclosing a list of places where a letter would reach him. He said, hesitatingly, "I hope that your decision was not precipitated by my offer. I am not so mean as to hold such a thing against any one, much less a lady. Nor would I press a suit that is unwelcome."
She shook her head vigorously. "It was nothing like that. The truth is … the gentleman we spoke of has returned for me and we are to be married."
For a moment, his face was wiped clean of expression. Then: "You wrote to him?"
"We had suffered a misunderstanding. So yes, I wrote to him and he came."
Mr. Warford bowed again and said, "I wish him congratulations and you every health and happiness."
Before she could say anything in reply, he abruptly turned on his heel and began walking away, his old coat swirling in the wind. For a moment, Elizabeth stared at his retreating back. Then she went after him with quick steps.
"Mr. Warford," she called. "Mr. Warford!"
He turned politely, but crossed his arms and would not meet her eyes. She took a deep breath.
"Mr. Warford, I know you do not wish to hear my apology, but I am a selfish, unfeeling creature and therefore will make it just the same. I am sorry if I led you astray or allowed you to think I was free to give my heart. I have no excuse except to say that I was confused - confused as to my own feelings and labouring under many mistaken apprehensions. But please believe I did not intend to engender any feelings that would cause you pain or distress now. If I gave you a sense of my high regard, it is because it is true, I do hold you in very high regard, the very highest - as a friend."
He looked at her then and shook his head. "You did not lead me astray; I hoped only. In vain, it seems, for how can a man compete with one who is blessed with all of the favours of the world?"
"It was not for worldly reasons that I accepted him," she said, insulted.
"Forgive me," he said, turning away again.
"If you will forgive me in return," she called.
She saw him pause and turn back to her. But he still looked hesitant.
She smiled and held out her hand. "Let us not quarrel, sir, for I think we both know the truth. You are a vast deal too good for me, and I expect that you will discover this as soon as you meet a woman who is more worthy of your talents and character - if not a good deal sooner."
He could not help but smile a little at that, though he did not take her hand. "I wish I had your optimism."
"Oh! Optimism costs nothing. If you will it, it is yours. But I do not think any great feat of optimism is required in your case. There are lovely and good girls a-plenty in this world, and they have but to meet you to recognize your worth. I shall pray for it, if you will allow me."
She was being a little mischievous, but it drew another smile from him, less pained this time, and this time he took her hand.
"I hope you will be very happy."
"I will be happier if I have your friendship."
"You have never lost it."
"Thank you."
"But I must ask you. Are you certain this is what you truly want? Are you certain you wish to marry a man who exposed you to such dishonour? He is rich to be sure, but will he make you happy? 'A man's life consisteth not in the abundance of things which he possesseth.'"
She sobered. "I must tell you that you are mistaken in the character of the man of whom you speak. Discretion forbids me from saying more, but I assure you that in this case, though we were both at fault, it is far more mine than his. He wished to treat me with honour from the first."
He looked skeptical and Elizabeth, not wishing to delve further on the subject, said, "I am glad to see you, sir, for it enables me to perform a task that my sister particularly charged me with."
"Oh?"
"The cottage. We have discussed it and neither of us wish to throw your congregants out in the cold. If our landlord does not mind, we would be pleased if you continued to use it for your meetings and perhaps a Sunday school. And my ladies from the village can continue to provide the upkeep. I can make arrangements with them today."
"Is this so?" he said, brightening in earnest. "I cannot speak for your landlord, but I envision no difficulty. He is aware of the meetings now."
"Yes, indeed. And when you intend to establish a true chapel in these parts, we would be honoured if you would think of us. We would like to do everything within our power to assist you."
He beamed at her. "I think you know this has long been a dream and object of mine."
"Then please, make your plans and write us when you are ready."
He thanked her warmly and they parted in friendship, Mr. Warford promising to call on her and Jane before he left.
"Did you really consider marrying him?" Darcy asked jealously.
It was a fine, clear afternoon - the first after days of drizzle - and they were sitting on her thinking rock, looking out to sea. It was to be their last full day in Somersetshire. Tomorrow morning Lord John's men, currently lodged in a nearby town, were to come for Jane and Samuel. Darcy and Elizabeth would depart in his carriage soon afterward.
A few days before their intended departure, Mr. Warford had called and stayed for tea. With some trepidation, Elizabeth had introduced him to Darcy and was relieved when the two men were polite, albeit a touch reserved with the other. But Darcy had thanked Mr. Warford for his efforts on Elizabeth's and Jane's behalf, and Mr. Warford had congratulated Darcy and Elizabeth on their betrothal. By the end of the visit, they were even debating the relative merits of makeshift Sunday schools and properly established grammar schools to advance the literacy of the labouring class.
It seemed that Darcy had not heard of Mr. Warford's role as a suitor. But that changed in the days subsequent - due to servants' gossip or village rumour, Elizabeth did not know. That morning, he had been withdrawn, and when they had set out on their by now daily walk, he taxed her with his information as soon as they had cleared the low stone wall surrounding the cottage. Eventually, she owned the truth of it. Then had come his question.
"I only considered it briefly," she replied defensively.
"You considered being his wife, and giving him my child to raise."
"Only because I thought you did not want me - or us."
"You did not give me a chance to tell you what I wanted."
"Indeed, I did. I wrote to you. That is why you are here."
"Before you wrote to me, I mean. He visited you for months while I was desperate, searching for you."
"I did not know that. How was I to know that? You had ceased communicating with me."
He was silent for a moment, then turned his gaze out to sea. The light wind ruffled his hair and raised small whitecaps in the water. He crossed his arms across his chest. "If you were considering marrying anybody, it should have been me."
"You did not ask me."
He was indignant at this. "I asked you from the first."
"But never again - not until just now."
"You should have known that my offer stood. I had not rescinded it."
"Being your mistress rescinded it. How could I be expected to know that you were still willing to marry me after I became your mistress?"
"What basis had you to conclude that I would not be willing?"
To that she had no answer, and he looked triumphant. Then she shrugged. "It does not matter. You ended our relationship. And left."
"To forestall you from doing the same thing. And I came back."
"After two weeks! I waited for you!"
"I sought you for three months!"
For a moment, they glared at each other. Then Elizabeth dimpled. "Are we really to quarrel over such a thing, sir? So soon after finally finding our way to each other? If I recall, we both had reason to be jealous and parties to be jealous of. Let us be quit and begin again."
She reached for him, but he avoided her touch and rose off the rock. He paced to the shore and returned, confronting her. "The situation is not the same. Your jealousy was unfounded and premised on error, mine on fact."
"What fact is this?" said Elizabeth, also sliding off the rock and standing. "That I briefly considered a marriage I had no desire to enter into, for reasons of security and protection?"
"That you like him."
Elizabeth stared at him open-mouthed. He turned back out to sea, then picked up a handful of large pebbles and flung them out to sea. She could tell how angry he was from the sharp, powerful flex of his arm and the impressive arc of the stones.
"I do, I do like him," she admitted. He turned back to her swiftly, his eyes resentful. She added bravely, "but my feelings are nothing to what I feel for you - neither in strength nor kind. I respect him; I esteem him as a friend and a minister; I believed he would be kind to my child because I have seen him be uniformly kind to all children. But I do not love him; not the smallest bit."
His gaze was intense on her face. She approached him, putting her hand on his arm tentatively. She noticed the tension in his body did not ease, but nor did he shake her off.
"It was why I knew I could not marry him in the end. Not only because of you or me, but because it would not have been fair to him. I had told myself it would be a fair trade. I would bring him comparative wealth and be a good and dutiful wife, and he would provide me with a home for my child and help me look after Jane. But I knew it would not do because I could not love him, I could never love him no matter how much time passed - because I love you."
He turned away from her again, arms crossed, but Elizabeth thought from his posture that his anger had abated.
"He is a very handsome man," he said severely.
"You are handsomer. And taller," she offered, then smiled to herself to see his hunched shoulders visibly relax.
"The villagers are constantly chanting his praises for his many good works," he said more mildly.
"Your servants would have me believe that you are the best landlord and master in all of England," she responded cheerfully.
"I understand he is assured of being liked wherever he goes."
"And so would you be if you elected to smile more."
The corners of his mouth quirked involuntarily. He looked sidelong at her, but she did not attempt to touch him again, only stood with her arms crossed behind her back and her eyes brimming with laughter.
At last, he took her hand in his own, removing his glove and peeling off hers. "I am sorry I doubted you," he said, smiling.
"You are forgiven - so long as it never takes place again."
He looked at her quickly and she smiled at him. "A jest only. Of course you may doubt me, and I am happy to give you proofs of my attachment. But I hope in time, you will come to trust the depth of my feelings for you."
He drew her to him. Her body was still slim and unbearably graceful, but he thought of what she carried inside of herself, and that of her own free will she had written to tell him of it, and then agreed to marry him. Proofs of attachment indeed!
"It is still very new to believe that you love me," he admitted, thrilling at the ease with which she nestled against him.
"I do," she said, smiling and brushing back the hair that had fallen on his forehead. "You must never doubt that."
They stood for a while like that, listening to the rough play of the surf along the marled shore. In the distance the sun, a flaming golden disc against the misty clouds, slipped slowly below the horizon.
"There is something else I wish to discuss," Darcy said, breaking their reverie.
"Mm? What is that?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.
He drew on her hand and they resumed walking along the shore.
"Because of the scandal with Colonel Fitzwilliam, I fear that the newspaper interest into Lord Fitzwilliam's connexions will be acute - and much of it will be directed at you."
She straightened defiantly. "I am not afraid."
"Regardless, I would not have you suffer any insults and abominations. Especially now, when you are in a delicate condition and require peace and rest."
"On this matter, I am resigned. What cannot be helped, must be endured," she said philosophically, then added with a smile, "I trust my health is not so fragile that it will fall into ruin when confronted with a few unpleasant paragraphs with my morning coffee."
"No doubt. And yet - I would spare you this trial if I can. I have been thinking and I have come up with a plan."
She was eager to hear his plan so he explained. She would come to Pemberley, but take up residence as the tenant of the Dower House half a mile away. They would say she was the well-off widow of a distant family connection, whose husband had died of fever while on business in in India, leaving her with child. After a time, it would be observed that the master of Pemberley was forming a tendre for his genteel tenant and he would marry her and declare her child, if it was male, his heir. The ruse would be at the beginning only; after that, gossip and conjecture would do the rest.
"Will it be a problem if people believed you declared another man's son your heir?" She wrinkled her brow delicately.
"I see no issue. Pemberley is not entailed, and I am free to dispose of it how I wish. If we had not married but you had remained my mistress for the long term, it would have been my intention to leave it to our son, were we to have one and if he was willing to adopt the Darcy name."
"Oh!" Her cheeks pinked and she smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
"It is a little unusual for an estate of this size and duration not to be entailed," he acknowledged. "My father and I had barred the entail for Georgiana's sake when I came of age, but we did not want to resettle it with no immediate prospect of a male heir, and when my father fell ill, the matter was not much thought of and my father trusted me to do what was right. But what do you think of my scheme?"
"You have a clergyman willing to perform this office?"
"I do. My old tutor, Dr. Miles, is the chaplain at Pemberley and the vicar of the village. I have written to him to explain my intentions and he has declared himself willing."
"Will your servants keep the secret?"
"I think so. As you can see, I travel with the ones who have always attended me, and they have so far. And we will have Mrs. Wortley and Dorothy for you. I settled them in Derbyshire."
"And your family? They know of me, do they not? Or at least, that you had a mistress? Will they not guess the truth of the situation?"
"Likely, but I see no reason why they would not accept the secret. Once we are irrevocably married, it will be in their interest to avoid scandal."
She frowned, considering, but Darcy could see no great risk. In law, it would be absolutely correct and irrefutable that they were married almost immediately upon their arrival at Pemberley, and the Parish record would show this. But the ruse would enable Elizabeth to move in society as a respectable woman and become acquainted with the villagers, his tenants and his neighbours with no cloud over her.
Elizabeth's thoughts tended in a different direction. A marriage to a reasonably portioned young widow, while unsatisfying to family ambition, was not disgraceful. At worst, it would have a minor impact on his standing and political prospects. At best, he would be shrugged off and perhaps even lauded as another victim of the romantic sensibility of the age.
"It seems to be a fine scheme," she pronounced at last, then added with some humour, "I confess, I have learnt to take a certain enjoyment in being incognita. But shall I play the grieving widow overburdened by pain and heartache until she finds solace in the arms of another man, or shall I be a merry widow, looking out for my next victim?"
"I care not what you play, so long as you remember that you are in reality my wife."
"Indeed, that is going about it utterly backward!" she laughed. "If I do not forget I am your wife, I will be kissing and caressing you in the churchyard, and then what will become of my reputation?"
He answered her with a kiss that made her forget her original question. It did, however, raise another.
"I believe I have discovered the fly in the proverbial ointment," she sighed in his arms. "How are we to see each other in private? You say the Dower House is situated near to the village. Surely the frequency and lateness of your visits will be noticed. Or did you intend to stay away from me until we are married officially?"
Darcy smiled smugly. "I have a solution to that problem, but I am afraid I am unable to divulge it until we are married."
"Until we are married! Why should that make a difference?"
"It is a secret the master of Pemberley can only share with his wife, his heir and one other person, and only with the consent of the others."
"A secret!" she exclaimed. "Please tell me. We will be married immediately; a few days can make no difference."
"A few days can make a great difference. Already you have questioned whether we ought to be married. I think you must wait."
"Oh, Mr. Darcy, how cruel. I demand you tell me immediately."
"You sound just like Lady Catherine," he said heartlessly.
"And I shall become just like Lady Catherine as soon as we are married if you do not tell me," she scolded. "I have never heard of such a proceeding, to dangle a secret in front of your betrothed and then bottle up like Admiral Nelson surrounding the French fleet."
"You must promise to be my wife."
"I have already promised to be your wife!"
"You must never question my offer again, nor harbour any doubts within yourself."
"I will not. I mean, I will. And they were not my own doubts in any case, I only wished to ensure you knew your mind. Please tell me," she wheedled. "I will bribe the bishop for a special licence to marry you today if you deem it necessary - only then our marriage will be publicly known and there will be no more need for your plan. So you see, you may as well tell me."
"I am afraid I do not follow your logic," he said quizzically. "But" - he added when she took a deep breath to launch into further pleas and cajoling - "I will tell you."
He made her swear to secrecy, then, when he was satisfied and she looked ready to burst, said, "There is a secret passage between Pemberley and the Dower House."
"Oh!" she breathed with delight. "Truly? A secret passage?"
"Yes. It dates to medieval times, or perhaps even Roman times, running under the house and connecting to the river and the Dower House. There used to be a friary and a large Catholic population in those parts, and the story is that my ancestor Lord D'Arcy used Pemberley House to harbour Jesuits for years before he was discovered and the Virgin Queen took his head and title for it. But the passage was never found and is known only to family. I do not know what the original entrances looked like, but the current ones are believed to have been fashioned by Nicholas Owen himself, who also installed a number of priest holes at Pemberley."
"Your sister knows?"
"She knows of two of the priest holes, but there are five in all. She knows nothing of the passages. I stumbled across some of the priest holes in my youth and shared them with Georgiana before my father learnt and explained the pledge of secrecy. I had intended to show her all when she came of age if I had no other heir. With your permission, I will still do so."
"Of course. But how big are the passages? How far do they run? Where are their entrances and exits?"
He explained that the passage to the river was the bigger one, likely once used as a convenient arrival or departure point and for the movement of goods. The other fork went to the Dower House, which was located on the site of the old village, from whence a traveller by road could easily come and go. There were three entrances within Pemberley House, one in the adjoining chapel and a number of nodes within the park. The library entrance was from a door hidden behind the rough panels of the priest hole concealed behind a bookshelf; in his dressing room, the entrance was from a false door at the back of a wardrobe; and the bottom of one of the staircases could be lifted to reveal further stairs leading underground. In the chapel a painted panel could be slid away to reveal a small priest hole with a trapdoor.
"And the Dower House?"
"Into the conservatory. Also, there is an entry point into one of the guest bedchambers - on the same principle, through the wardrobe."
"Into a guest bedchamber? That is curious. I pity the guest. What was the purpose of that, I wonder? Did you have an ancestor who was a kindred spirit of the Borgias?"
"Ah, no," he said with a heightened complexion. "At least not to my knowledge. The Dower House was originally built as a guest house, and the master of Pemberley at the time was known as something of a rake. It is believed he may have used it for assignations."
She laughed heartily at him for this, then quizzed him some more about Pemberley's hidden chambers. He promised to show her them all and explain the secrets to their unlocking. They talked until the sun went down and it was time to return to the cottage.
The next morning they woke early and, shivering in the chill morning air, readied themselves for their journey. Lady Clementina had thoughtfully sent Jane, Elizabeth and Samuel more suitable clothing than they brought with them or had been able to contrive, and by the time Lord John's and Darcy's carriages had arrived from the inns at which they had been lodged, they were warm outside under sumptuous layers of wool and velvet.
"Oh, Jane, how beautiful you are," said Elizabeth, a lump in her throat. Jane wore a fur-lined blue pelisse with a tasselled cap, and the richness of her outfit declared her as belonging to the large, stately carriage and its elaborately liveried, stiff-backed attendants, and no longer to the rough stone cottage and windswept, rocky hills.
"I would say the same about you, Lizzy. You know not how well that suits you," Jane commented on the crimson velvet spencer trimmed with military braid and matching cap that Elizabeth had accepted as a present from Lady Clementina.
She held out her arms and the sisters embraced tearfully. Then Elizabeth took Samuel from Hannah for one last kiss and passed him back to Jane. Lord John's secretary, who was providing escort, held the carriage door open for the women. Then they were in and the door was closed. But Jane poked her head out the window.
"Write to me frequently, Lizzy. I will depend on you to tell me everything about yourself."
"I will," Elizabeth pledged. "And you too, Jane. When next I see you and Samuel, I want to feel as if I have been with him for every step."
Jane nodded, dabbing her face with a handkerchief. Then the outriders moved off slowly and the carriage followed. Elizabeth watched until she could no longer see Samuel's face howling for her in the window, until the graceful gloved hand waving the handkerchief shrank to nothing in the distance. Then she turned to where Darcy stood waiting alongside his own equipage, a modern and more streamlined affair, flanked by more soberly dressed coachmen and grooms. He held out his hand.
"Ready?"
She took a deep breath and smiled. "Ready."
He helped her in and made sure she was comfortable among the cushions, then gave the signal for them to head north.
RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:
1. Only about half of England's major estates were entailed and there are numerous examples of noblemen leaving the bulk of their estates differently from how their title descended, including to illegitimate children. For example, the enormously wealthy 3rd Earl Egremont (1751-1837) left Petworth, the greatest of his estates, to his illegitimate son by his favourite mistress, Elizabeth Ilive, a polymath and scientist who he married in 1801 after a 16-year relationship.
2. Entail / settlement - An entail could be barred by the current life holder and the heir apparent acting in concert. By the 17th and 18th Century, it became common for father and son to bar the existing entail upon the son attaining the age of majority (21), make provision for widows and other children, then resettle the estate by setting up a new entail. In P&P, Mr. Bennet describes such a plan, which was thwarted by the failure of male issue.
3. "Bribe the Archbishop" - there were 3 ways to marry in Regency England: 1) publication of banns over 3 weeks in one's parish church, 2) purchasing a common licence for about £1, which required swearing that there were no impediments to the marriage, and marrying in a parish where at least one of the parties was normally resident, and 3) obtaining a special licence from the Archbishop of Canterbury for about £24-25 that enabled one to marry anywhere at any time. The latter was extremely rare.
4. "The old village" - In the original of many manorial plans, the manor house was placed at the centre or right beside the village housing and public buildings. In the 18th Century, it became the fashion to move the village away from the manor house in order to offer an unimpeded view of and from the manorial lord's seat.
5. Saint Nicholas Owen (1562-1606) was a Jesuit lay brother and chief builder of priest holes and secret passages used to hide Catholic recusants in Elizabethan England. He worked in the service of Friar Henry Garnet, a Jesuit priest born in Derbyshire who was executed for his alleged participation in the 1605 Gunpowder Plot. Owen was captured and tortured in 1594, but revealed nothing, then arrested a second time in 1606 and tortured to death in the Tower of London, still maintaining his silence. His work has been found in a number of English stately homes, and many more examples are believed to be extant but undiscovered. In 1970, he was canonized by Pope Paul VI and is now considered the patron saint of illusionists and escapologists.
6. The Virgin Queen is, of course, Elizabeth I, who imprisoned the Catholic Mary, Queen of Scots, at Chatsworth in Derbyshire for 16 years, as a potential rival for her throne. Under Elizabeth's reign Catholicism was outlawed and Catholics persecuted and killed.
7. I have envisioned Darcy's ancestors as outwardly Protestant and purchasers of lay patronage in the Anglican Church following the Dissolution of the Monasteries, but with a secret strain of Catholic sympathy, and peripheral supporters of the Rising of the North rebellion. This is a tip of the hat to Thomas, 1st Baron Darcy de Darcy, who was executed in 1537 for his role in the Pilgrimage of the Grace, as well as to the 4th Earl Fitzwilliam, who was a lifelong champion of Catholic emancipation.
AUTHOR'S RESPONSE TO COMMENTS
Hello, everybody! I just wanted to say thank you very much for the reviews, I always love to hear readers' thoughts on my writing, be it good or bad. I am absolutely delighted to read that you enjoy my story, but I also find a lot of food for thought (and future writing) in any comments you have. In fact, that's a big reason why I post online, to get feedback for revisions in case I decide to publish. The second thing is, a lot of people ask questions and I've been feeling bad that I don't have a good way to reply, so I'm going to make an attempt at the bottom of each chapter, starting now. Apologies if I misunderstood any question.
Q. Is this the end?
A. No. I always have definite ideas about the ending and am eager to get there, only to find once I do that I have rushed the story. So there will be a few more chapters to this story. I can't tell you exactly how many, but at least 6 more. D&E are together, but there are still question marks over how she is going to go over with his family, society and at Pemberley, and whether they can build a good life together. Historically speaking, there were lots of imprudent love matches that didn't work out well. Jane Austen notes such things in her books - e.g., Fanny Price's parents in Persuasion, Mr. Weston's first marriage in Emma. Regency England was a time of competing thought about the purpose of marriage, and Austen herself repeatedly makes clear that physical passion is not a sufficient basis for a good marriage.
Q. Will Darcy's plan risk the first child's inheritance or cause a conflict between sons if they have more than one?
A. That's a great question, because there are cases of people going to court to try to prove a child or children were illegitimate in order to inherit. In one terrible case, a man had married his deceased's wife's sister and had children by her, but the next person in line to the estate went to Court and successfully voided the marriage and had all the children declared illegitimate on the basis that the marriage was incestuous (it was a rule of consanguinity that you could not marry your wife's sister).
In this case, the risk is extremely low. 1. He intends to marry Elizabeth before she delivers, so the baby is going to be born with his name, even if the neighbourhood thinks it's not in fact his. 2. If somebody tried to prove otherwise in a court of law, they would run up against the hard truth, which is that the baby is his and born in wedlock, and there's no hint of a previous husband. 3. Nobody would sue or prosecute because there's nothing to be gained by it. Pemberley is not entailed and he can leave it how he likes. He just has to be careful not to introduce an ambiguity in his will (e.g. "To my eldest son, so-and-so" rather than just "To my eldest son"), and a competent lawyer would make sure that happens. 4. He doesn't intend to hide the truth from his children, just the neighbourhood, and only for the short term until E is safely delivered and established as mistress of Pemberley. Then if the secret comes out, he's counting on people not caring that much because in those days, most people accepted that an established marriage whitewashed the scandal of its beginnings (e.g., Lydia Bennet). Essentially, he doesn't have much riding on his plan, he only wants to spare Elizabeth a bit of stress and humiliation that she would otherwise suffer.
*SPOILER ALERT* Darcy's plan doesn't work out quite as he hopes.
Q. Will they be able to keep the secret that they are into each other?
A. Haha, well, I intend to have a bit of fun with that! But it's part of the plan that he's supposed to be falling for her, they just can't do anything scandalous in public before they are "married."
© 2017-18 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED