Author's note: Hi everyone! I know it's been over a year ... I don't think I need to tell anyone *why* 2020-2021 has been a rough year ...
I also needed a larger cast of members of society to snub/cut John and Fanny so I borrowed some cast from Georgette Hayer's April Lady
"It was the most vexing thing!" Fanny Dashwood complained to her husband as they entered the carriage to the theater. "I have been a client of Madame Lavalle for years and today when I went in to place an order she told me that she was not taking any new orders though I waited politely for Mrs. Sherwood to finish placing an order for that mousy daughter of hers' trousseau!"
"I am sorry my love," her husband said sympathetically.
"What's worse, when I reminded her that I'd been a faithful client for so long she had the effrontery to suggest that I might not have the capital to pay her. Me!" Mr. Dashwood tutted but she didn't pause long enough for him to get a word in. "She said that she'd heard word that our finances may not be as solid as she'd been led to believe. Then she had the insolence to insist that I pay my outstanding balance before she would consider placing a new order."
She paused for her husband to offer her sympathy, but he was looking at his hat in his lap. She glared at him long enough for him to notice the silence before he replied. "I'm sorry you were treated so shabbily my dear. Perhaps the order for Miss Sherwood's trousseau placed too high a tax on her resources."
"Hah!" She laughed mirthlessly, "I think not, a mantua maker of her caliber and prestige should have more than enough girls to keep her on schedule despite a shabby trousseau for a mousy little nobody," she huffed. "Not that anyone of import will see those gowns after she takes herself off to the wilds of Scotland when she marries that brash fiance of hers. Come to think on it, I could swear that the impertinent girl giggled and whispered something to the shop girl while I was waiting."
"I had an odd experience of my own today," Mr. Dashwood mused absentmindedly, "the auctioneer at Tattersall's willfully refused to accept my bid though I'd made my offer clear far before Mr. Fancot placed his winning bid."
"That's all for the best, I daresay," she said distractedly, "your chestnuts are perfectly serviceable." If she was being declined by dressmakers, Fanny decided that it was best that her husband not spend their money too frivolously.
Margaret felt giddy as Colonel Fitzwilliam handed her out of the carriage at the Theatre Royal. She'd been subjected to a litany of Mrs. Jennings' vulgar speculations about her prospects with "Col. F." ever since they'd received Mrs. Darcy's invitation to dine with them that evening before joining them in their private box; however Margaret didn't pay her much mind. Unlike Maryanne, she found Mrs. Jennings' youthful spirit endearing and was willing to indulge her in a bit of harmless silliness over a handsome officer.
She could scarcely contain her excitement as they mounted the stairs. This was her very first visit to Drury Lane and Mrs. Darcy had given her the opportunity to do it in style. She would enjoy the show in a private box with her good friend Georgiana and a dashing soldier for company. It would be her fairy-tale evening. The whole fiasco between Willoughby and Maryanne had taught her not to trust that all fairy-tales had happy endings but she was happy just to enjoy herself while she could.
There was an odd hush as their party entered the lobby, followed by an excited buzz of conversation. She likewise felt an unprecedented number of eyes following them. The anomalous behavior of the ton had scarcely entered her brain before her attention was captured by the opulence of the room and its occupants.
"Richard!" Margaret felt her companion's arm tense under her hand as an elegant older woman accompanied by a stately gentleman approached and addressed him, "what a surprise to see you here tonight!" Margaret caught a glance between the lady and Mrs. Darcy which seemed to contradict that statement.
"Is it mother? I told you I'd be attending the theater with Darcy," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied suspiciously.
"Well, never mind that. Will you introduce us to your party?" She asked, looking directly at Margaret, who suddenly felt sympathy for Georgiana's fear of scrutiny as the lady appraised her. No wonder the poor girl always felt judged if her relations were so intimidating.
Richard wasn't sure what game his mother was playing at. "Of course you know Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana," he answered with a confused crease upon his brow. "You may recall Miss Kitty Bennet from the Darcy's wedding breakfast," Elizabeth's typically giddy sister seemed to fold in on herself as she curtsied to his mother. "This is Mrs. Jennings, and Miss Margaret Dashwood. May I present my father and mother, the Earl and Countess of Matlock."
"Miss Dashwood, it is so lovely to make your acquaintance, I've heard so much about you!" His mother gushed. Miss Dashwood glanced up at him questioningly and he gave her a confused shrug, he had no more notion of what was happening than she had, though a conspiratorial look between his mother and Elizabeth gave him some indication. As his mother and Elizabeth fawned over Miss Dashwood, he attempted to figure out what they were playing at. He expected matchmaking schemes from his mother, but he was disappointed in Elizabeth. He'd thought her above such stratagems, though he must say he preferred Elizabeth's discernment. His mother had paraded several 'worthy' young ladies before him over the last year, each one wealthy, titled, and insipid. He couldn't imagine tying himself for life to a woman he couldn't have a proper conversation with.
As the ladies conversed, he considered his own wishes on the matter. If he were honest with himself, the only young lady he'd ever felt he could tolerate for a lifetime was, unfortunately, Elizabeth herself. Had his cousin not been madly, embarrassingly, haplessly in love with her already, he may have offered for her himself instead of trying unsuccessfully to point out Darcy's good qualities on that fateful visit to Rosings. It seemed oddly fitting, therefore, that Elizabeth's first foray into matchmaking for him was a surprisingly good fit. Margaret Dashwood was intriguing, she was interested in strategy and adventure. She was lively and engaging without being flighty or dim-witted. He hadn't seriously considered her as an option because he hadn't thought his parents would approve, but as he watched her engage his mother in a conversation about the architecture of the theater he reconsidered that stance. She was beautiful, graceful, and intelligent and apparently adept at adjusting her conversation to fit her environment. Her knowledge of military tactics far exceeded those of other young women of his acquaintance and he had reason to believe that she'd be willing to follow his regiment if they were to wed.
"Well, we had best continue on to our seats," his mother's intention to leave finally pulled him out of his contemplation, "it was lovely to meet you. Mrs. Jennings, Miss Dashwood, would you care to join us for dinner tomorrow?" She asked pointedly.
"Why of course, Lady Matlock, we would love to join you tomorrow," Mrs. Jennings replied with a vigorous nod of her head. "We wouldn't want to separate the young people now would we?" Mrs. Jennings followed this up with an exaggerated wink, Lady Matlock's slight grimace at this did not escape Richard's notice any more than the vulgar insinuation that prompted it.
His father forcefully clapped him on the back and added: "Of course, you'll join us as well, won't you Richard?" in a tone of command that Richard wouldn't dare disobey for any reason short of military duty.
"It would be my pleasure," Richard replied with a slight bow. He'd rapidly realized over the past minutes that he was indeed open to the possibility of this match, and if the earl was complicit in the matter there was little use in objecting.
He heard a small sigh of relief from his companion as his parents retreated. "I apologize for that ambush, Miss Dashwood."
"Oh, the earl and countess were delightful," she sighed, "you may find me rather naive , but that was the first time I've had the full scrutiny of an earl and countess on me and I'm not sure how well I acquitted myself."
"Nonsense," he laughed, "you handled that superbly, why else would she have invited you to dine?"
"You're right, of course. They are just rather imposing."
"More imposing than me?" He joked.
"I'd take a colonel over an earl any day," her response was so casual, stated as a matter of fact, and yet it struck Richard forcefully. He'd spent his whole life as a second son, a spare heir, constrained in ways that his elder brother and cousin were not. A charming young lady plainly stating that she'd prefer a soldier, prefer himself, over a peer was unprecedented.
"Would you really?" He asked faintly.
"Certainly! I can understand soldiers, their systems of rank and reputation are based largely on merit and honor. When interacting with nobility one must follow complex rules of precedent and deference for someone who was merely born into the position by chance of birth." In that moment, Richard's choice was made. Margaret Dashwood was a gem and he'd be daft not to court her.
The remainder of the evening proved frustrating for Richard. Now that he'd decided on her, Miss Dashwood seemed to suddenly garner more attention than she ever had before. The ladies exclaimed over her poise and good nature, the gentlemen clamored for her attention. Richard was hard pressed to remain a gentleman when Lord Dysart Irvine, known rake and spendthrift, monopolized Miss Dashwood's attention for nearly ten minutes during the intermission with a detailed description of Wellington's strategy at Salamanca and bemoaned the fact that his intention to join the army was foiled by his parent's interference. However, Richard was a gentleman and refused to let his jealousy get the better of him. He therefore refrained from informing her that the Viscount's information was clearly gleaned second-hand and Viscount Irvine had been employed by reckless wagers such as jumping his horse over a dinner table while good soldiers fought and died in the war on the continent. His restraint was rewarded when Miss Dashwood turned back to him with an exaggerated eye roll when the interloper walked away and said: "Can you imagine! A grown man blaming his lack of service to his country on his mother!"
Fanny Dashwood knew something was wrong the moment they stepped into the theater. She had gleefully participated in enough gossip herself to recognize that the whispers behind fans and malicious glances in her direction could not bode well. She wondered what John had done to embarrass her this time. Walking through the crowd, several of her nodding acquaintances ignored her greetings while a group of her old school friends collectively turned their backs as she approached.
John, apparently oblivious to their current plight, approached a group. "Mr. Allendale, I hear you've been given an appointment at last, congratulations!"
Mr. Allendale looked around as if he was at a loss for what to do. "Sir ..." he began as if to embark on one of his polite but long-winded monologues.
"Jeremy!" Lady Letitia Marion exclaimed, looking up at Mr. Allendale with sad beseeching eyes. He nodded at her and she looked Fanny in the eye before pointedly turning around with a flourish. Her sister-in-law, Lady Cardross spared Fanny a brief glance that teemed with mingled distaste and pity before turning as well. The fact that the formerly penniless Nell Irvine was now in a position after she'd somehow tricked the Earl of Cardross into marriage to either pity her or give her the cut direct enraged Fanny to no end.
"Mr. Dashwood, I must say how shocked I was to hear of your treatment of your sisters. I had previously believed you to be an amiable and just gentleman, but the fact that you have refused to share your current good fortune with your family does you no credit. As you are well aware, my own widowed mother has the sole charge of my younger siblings although my esteemed father had but little money to leave her. I, therefore, have striven from an early age to earn money to help to support my brothers and sisters through their education. If filial duty to the promise you gave your father was not inducement enough, fraternal empathy to your sisters ought to have compelled you to do what you ought ..."
As the pompous blowhard continued his lecture to her husband Fanny finally realized the root of her current distress. She looked around and saw little Margaret Dashwood on the arm of Colonel Fitzwilliam speaking with the Earl and Countess of Matlock and the Darcys. She recalled the curious conversation she'd had with Lady Matlock earlier in the week and realized her miscalculation. She'd willingly supplied the lady with enough information that, when viewed in a certain revolutionary light, was enough to condemn her. She'd been trying to do the lady a kindness, to warn her, to preserve the rank of the family from even more infiltration from grasping upstarts. She realized now that Mrs. Darcy's country manners and radical views on rank must have degraded the standards of one of England's prominent aristocratic families.
John was trying to get a word of self-defense in through Mr. Allendale's impenetrable diatribe when Fanny stepped away to greet her mother. "Lady Chudleigh and her spinster daughter just gave me the cut direct, I've never been so offended in my life!" Mrs. Ferrars said as she grasped her daughter's hands.
"It couldn't possibly be as bad as the scolding we've been having from Mr. Allendale of all people," Fanny replied in exasperation and nodded behind her where John was ineffectually trying to explain himself.
"Do we know what this fuss is all about?"
"I'm afraid so," Fanny nodded toward where the youngest Dashwood leech was laughing with her noble companions.
Mrs. Ferrars' face reddened in anger, "that manipulative traitor! To think ..."
"Mother!" Fanny silenced her as she saw Lady Leticia's eyes turn back toward them with a calculating gleam, "best to leave this conversation for private." If they fled now it would only confirm that they'd behaved improperly in the first place. The only thing to be done was to keep their heads up, carry on through this scandal with as much poise as possible, and wait for the ton to either collectively come to their senses or get bored and move on to the next scandal. With that goal in mind, she collected her indignant mother and sputtering husband and ushered them to their private box.
John Willoughby finished off his brandy in one swallow. His insipid wife was gossiping with her inane friends. After years of marriage – and full access to her dowry – he no longer put in the effort to be her charming beau and stood indifferently by as they chattered on; he snapped to attention, however, when the name of Dashwood was mentioned. He felt his wife's eyes on him as he eagerly assimilated the tale of a broken deathbed promise and a family of ladies left destitute. He stared angrily over at Mr. John Dashwood as the hapless gentleman repeatedly attempted, and failed, to make conversation with his acquaintances during the intermission. The fact that his Maryanne ought to have had a fortune if not for the avarice and spite of her brother and his wife set a white hot rage burning within him.
If Maryanne had possessed a dowry all those years ago he never would have been trapped in this loveless marriage with a bitter, controlling wife. Instead, he'd be leading an idyllic life reading poetry and flirting over long walks through the grounds of Combe Magna with a lively, loving wife. His home would be full of the sounds of music and laughter rather than scolding and snide commentary on his behavior. He never would have been forced to return Maryanne's letters and lock of hair. He never would have broken her heart and sent her into a depressive decline that nearly cost her life. She never would have turned to that sanctimonious prat Colonel Brandon of all people for comfort. The intermission came to an end and his wife dragged him back to their box before he'd worked himself up to confronting the cad.
"Don't you dare make a scene over this John Willoughby," Sophia hissed into her husband's ear as they reached the privacy of their box. "Don't think I've forgotten the spectacle that Dashwood girl made during our betrothal. You promised when you returned those letters and that cursed lock of hair that she would never effect our relationship again. Foolish girl that I was I believed you! Don't think I didn't know about that hasty trip to Cleveland mere weeks after we were wed because Miss Maryanne Dashwood was ill."
He looked at her in shock, "how did you know of that?"
"Please, the servants were aware of the visit, servants talk and nobody spreads gossip faster than Mrs. Palmer," he had no response to that – they'd already been married by that point and he therefore had little to lose from her knowledge of the trip – so he merely took the flask out of his pocket and took a generous sip. "I was a foolish, idealistic girl when I married you and was hastily and cruelly disillusioned. However, what's done is done for good or ill. You are married. Miss Maryanne Dashwood is married. I'll even go so far as to pray for Miss Margaret's sake that her brother does not cave to this current pressure and give her a dowry lest she too learn the disappointment of falling for a charming fortune hunter. The very least you could do for me is not draw any attention to your previous affairs while the Dashwoods are under the scrutiny of scandal."
Willoughby again said nothing. The least he could do for the wife who made his life miserable? Whose only attractions before they'd wed were her fortune and her passably pretty looks. After four years of marriage he had full control of the former and her shrewish scowling had permanently marred the latter. He therefore dismissed his wife's complaints and spent the second act stewing over what might have been and finishing off the contents of his flask. He was, therefore, neither terribly steady on his feet nor in a sound frame of mind when they exited their box after the play and he happened to catch sight of a certain miserly brother.
"Dashwood!" He called out in rage, breaking free from his wife's controlling grasp and stalking toward his adversary.
"Ah, Mr. Willoughby," Mr. Dashwood said amiably, perhaps content that someone was acknowledging his presence.
"How dare you!" Willoughby shouted, drawing a crowd. "You ruined my life!"
"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Dashwood said backing away.
"If you'd been a better man, a better brother, then Maryanne would have had a dowry and I wouldn't have had to break it off with her to marry my cow of a wife!"
"John!" Sophia's voice carried the same level of rage as his own as she again grabbed onto his arm, adding in a seething whisper: "I will not allow you to disgrace me any further, come away now!"
"I will not!" He shouted, tearing his arm away from his wife, lunging again toward Mr. Dashwood. That gentleman, while generally somewhat slow in comprehension, had the presence of mind to move out of the way of this attack. Thus Willoughby suddenly found himself lunging at no target with dulled reflexes. In his attempt to right himself he pivoted, twisted his ankle, and fell down the grand staircase. He heard a sickening crunch and felt an excruciating pain in his leg. The last sight he saw before everything went black was his wife casually walking past him down the stairs without sparing him a second glance.
"I imagine that outcome was not part of your master plan, dy dear?" Mr. Darcy asked his wife as they looked down on the crumpled form of Mr. Willoughby.
"No, I believe Mr. Willoughby has nobody but himself to blame for that display," Mrs. Darcy responded in shock, "I'd never imagined any physical harm could come to anyone from this scheme."
Margaret joined them at the railing and murmured, "it may be terrible to admit such a thing, but I can't help but laugh at the irony of the situation. The first time he met my sister she'd fallen down a hill and sprained her ankle and he came to her rescue. She fell in love with him as he carried her home. It seems fitting that years after he'd cast her off and broken her heart their story would end with him falling down a flight of stairs and sustaining a similar injury."
"I dare say he deserves it for risking both your sister and his wife's reputations by making such a public spectacle of his bad behavior," said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
"Mrs. Darcy," Margaret worked up the courage to ask, "do I understand correctly that you had some hand to play in the strange happenings tonight? I've had so many people approach me this evening, I saw people snubbing John and Fanny during the intermission, and now with Mr. Willoughby shouting at my brother about dowries ... When I told you that story I never intended ..." she broke off and just waved her hand at the scene below.
"I'm truly sorry if it distresses you, my dear. Your story touched on long-dormant fears of my own, and once I'd had a start I could not rest till I knew the particulars. I confirmed your story in greater detail with Mrs. Fanny Dashwood and cajoled my husband into doing the same with your brother. What they've done is atrocious and they deserve public censure." Mrs. Darcy looked down and blushed, "I apologize if I overstepped."
"I suppose I should be terribly upset," Margaret said, fighting a laugh "but at the moment my biggest regret is that I didn't get my own chance to give them the cut direct."
"I believe you shall still get your chance," the Colonel interjected nodding behind her. Their whole group turned.
"Margaret!" John said with a warm smile, "I'm so happy to see you in London!" Fanny followed behind him with a forced grin.
"Shall we take the eastern stairs?" Mr. Darcy said dryly, holding his hand in the opposite direction of her relations, "there seems to be some commotion on the main stairwell."
"Indeed," Margaret said coldly and their entire party turned from John and Fanny and strode away.