A/N Most of you think that Richard was the absolute paragon of love and about half of you think Darcy will never be worthy of Elizabeth, which I have taken to mean that I did a great job with the first half of this story but have my work cut out to finish it!
Now for a change of scenery *jazz hands*
oOoOoOo
Thursday 25th May 1797
Lord William Wentworth-Fitzwilliam, the fourth Earl Fitzwilliam, was a decidedly unfashionable gentleman. The length of his breeches has not lowered in keeping with the style of the day. The chalk-grey powdered wig - which had long been discarded by others except in the most formal of settings - was perched ever-presently on his head, curling at the ears and tied at the back with black ribbon[1]. He had not embraced the new fashion of the cravat, and clung to the stiff stock which dug into his softening jowls.
He therefore presented a delightfully ridiculous picture as he attempted to show his grandson how to strike a heavy boxwood ball with a pall-mall mallet[2]. John did not precisely grasp the nature of the activity, being, as he was, just two years old. He could barely lift the mallet to swing, and instead hung on it, occasionally standing on tiptoes to press his nose against the handle. Lord Fitzwilliam ignored this, and continued with his litany of instructions.
"No, no, my boy, you are going in the wrong direction. The aim is to get the ball through the hoop, not go back the way you came. You need to grasp the handle here, you see – ah, you shall have to hold it lower. You want to hit the ball with the other side of the mallet, you won't have any control with that side. Here, let me show you how it's done."
At the other end of the avenue of grass closely groomed for the game, stood Lord Charles Wentworth-Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Milton. Unlike his father, he cut a debonair figure, with cropped, ruffled hair and sideburns with sharp corners. He eschewed the pale green, curving coattails of the elder gentleman, preferring a dark-coloured cut-away coat with brass buttons and a close fit. He wore his longer breeched inside black hessian boots which provided a counterpoint to the starched, intricate knots of the white cravat cascading from his throat.
Milton was less than impressed with John's efforts. He stood about impatiently, occasionally swinging his mallet as though he might forget how to do so if he could not play soon. His own children – Charlotte and Margaret – were seated on a blanket under a canopy, tended quietly by the nursery maid. In general, he preferred to leave the care of children to anyone other than himself.
Reclining on a chaise lounge under another canopy some ways away, Elizabeth watched with unbridled amusement. She drew no less pleasure from the antics of her son and father-in-law than she got from the dyspeptic expression on Milton's face. Though she was fond of her husband's family – the Earl had only softened since Richard's death, Lady Fitzwilliam was a little warmer too, and Milton's young wife Mary was sweet – she had never learned to like the Viscount. He was too much concerned with himself and too little with those around him.
Lady Milton was seated in a chair opposite Elizabeth, gazing at her husband with her chin cupped in her palm. Unlike Elizabeth, Mary was enamoured with Milton. Their courtship had been long, as her father, the Baron Dundas, was a shrewd fellow, and they had been married for nearly three years. Nevertheless, Mary was still warmed by the first flush of love and, in her mind, her husband was the sweetest, cleverest, most handsome man. In this, she was in agreement with his mother. They could quite content themselves passing an afternoon admiring the gentleman's fine seat on his hunter and the beautiful melodies he could call from his violin. Elizabeth usually found a reason to be absent from these conversations.
The pall-mall lawn, a long, narrow strip of closely trimmed grass, was flanked on either side by evenly-spaced trees which stood like silent sentinels, solemnly guarding the game. The lawn was set towards the back of the estate, before the parkland melted into the Home Farm, but close enough to the house that servants could reasonably be asked to carry furniture out for a few hours of games[3]. The canopies, constructed of sturdy poles and lightly patterned fabric in pastel shades, were erected at several intervals down the length of the lawn, so that those more inclined to lounge than play could nonetheless follow the game.
The back of the house was more accurately called the West Front, and the elegant symmetry of the rusty, red brick architecture could be seen from between the copses which framed the gardens on this side of the estate. Backed directly onto the older West Front was the East front, a sprawling Palladian structure of gargantuan proportions, which stood in looming vigil over the vast, manicured lawns and rolling parkland. The tall, sandstone pillars and multitude of windows left an impression of strength and wealth – Elizabeth wished she could tell Richard that she now quite understood the sense of entitlement and importance harboured by several of his family members, if this veritable palace had been their childhood playground.
"You must swing it, my boy, you cannot hit the ball if you do not swing it… or you could push it, yes that also works, but it is not quite in keeping with the spirit of the game, you see?"
John did not see, but the Earl was not particularly concerned with that. Milton rolled his eyes and abandoned the game, sauntering to the canopy where he surrendered the mallet to a footman. When he passed his wife, his long fingers plucked at a leaf that had blown into her hair. They made a handsome couple together, Elizabeth noted. Where she and Richard had been pretty and lively, they had their share of asymmetries and imperfect features, and their charm had come from their character, not their looks. The Lord and Lady Milton could have stepped out of a painting – the sort that is so aspirational as to be exaggerated. Mary's rich, chestnut hair, which she wore piled on her head in sweeping curls, complemented her husband's fair complexion. Milton's tall, broad stature was not so much as to overpower his wife's sloping shoulders and wide hips.
Milton's knuckles lightly grazed the back of Mary's neck as he leaned to whisper something in her ear. Elizabeth averted her eyes, heat in her cheeks. He was a gentleman fond of these touches: whispering fingertips, hands that brush in barely-there caresses. His was particularly inclined to bestow these touches on his wife, but Elizabeth had also seen his wandering hands on the housemaids, Lady Fitzwilliam's abigail, and the second footman, George.
"Mrs Fitzwilliam, your complexion is particularly fine today," Milton observed.
"Oh isn't it, rather?" Mary agreed. "You should wear blue more often; it really does suit you very well."
"I confess, I was much in need of the new additions to my wardrobe. I am glad you convinced me to try the seamstress in Wentworth."
"Yes, she is rather good, aren't they? Nothing like London, they can't keep up with the fashions here in the wilds of Yorkshire, but good quality, I think."
"Yes! And I was never one to stay atop the latest trends, so I am very happy with whatever can withstand my rambles. I am best served by plain dresses and sturdy boots, I am afraid."
"Yes, yes," Milton drawled, "a woman like you should always be ready for a romp in the fields."
Elizabeth grimaced. Mary tittered.
"Gracious!" came the cry from Earl. "I think he's got the hang of it!"
John had either fallen over or decided to take a closer look at the insects in the grass, and in the process he'd flung the mallet in such a way that it had happened to hit the ball in the vague direction of the hoop.
"Good job, darling!" Elizabeth called. Her son did not seem inclined to get back up, which suggested the descent had been voluntary, at least.
In the wisdom of his later years, the Earl decided it was time to call Milton back so they could finish the game, leaving the budding entomologist to his observations. The Viscount threw a wave in his father's direction to signal his assent, carelessness in the flick of his wrist and the toss of his hair. Then he pressed a kiss to Mary's hand and picked up his mallet. As he left the cover of the canopy, the look he directed at Elizabeth was indecipherable.
oOoOoOo
Even a family dinner was an impressive event at Wentworth Woodhouse. The table spanned the length of the vast room, attended by the butler, underbutler and at least three footmen. With the Earl at one end and the Countess at the other, people were thinly distributed around the table, so family meals were never precisely intimate. The silver gleamed, each course was removed by one grander than the last, and the epergne at the centre of the table always held fresh fruit, even in the dead of winter. It was bizarre, Elizabeth thought, that she had become used to dining opposite a real pineapple – it was an extravagance she could not have imagined as a child.
"I was so pleased to watch you play with John today, my lord," Elizabeth told her father-in-law.
"Yes, yes," he agreed, "he needs a strong male influence; I am quite pleased to guide him while he is here."
"Well, my lord, he is but two years old, I don't think he is missing male authority quite yet."
"No, I agree with my father," Milton commented. "A boy is never too young to be shown what it is to be a great man. And the child shall need it more than most, with Richard gone."
"Yes, well," Elizabeth smiled tightly, "his godfather is very fond of him, so I do not fear for his… male sensibilities."
"Sensibilities! Oh you do have a way with words!" Mary laughed. Lady Fitzwilliam delicately patted at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and spoke.
"I am as fond of Duncannon as anyone – my nephew is a good man, certainly – but Milton could be an invaluable influence on the boy."
"I'm sure," said Elizabeth. The food tasted of ash in her mouth.
"That is something you should think about, of course," continued Lady Fitzwilliam. "The boy must not be separated from his family. He is near enough when you are at Somerford, but you really should consider residing here more often. You are of course his caretaker and guide while he is small, but you must depend upon my word, you shall blink and he will be in trousers already! And there is a certain element to a gentleman's upbringing that a mother cannot provide, and Milton really is best placed to step into that role."
"I really do not think-"
"You must not worry, Mrs Fitzwilliam," the Viscount drawled, "the boy will not doubt turn out well under our charge."
Conversation turned to other topics, but a shiver of disquiet stayed with Elizabeth. The tension in her shoulders remained as the gentleman left, and as she listened to Lady Fitzwilliam and Mary discuss some scandal or other. It remained after she had settled in the library, and as other members of the family joined her. Though she could not identify the cause of her unease enough to articulate it, Elizabeth turned to Mary, seated opposite with a novel in hand, and began,
"I should not see my husband forgotten in John's life."
"What? Oh, the conversation at dinner; I am sure nobody meant anything by it. I knew him but a little, of course, but the Colonel was a sporting sort of fellow, and the family miss him. Milton especially."
Elizabeth cast a sceptical eye at Milton, who was loitering idly in one corner, plucking absentmindedly at a stack of papers but not reading any of them.
"Oh yes! They were fond of each other, really, under that brotherly competitiveness. Milton tells me they were very close as boys."
Having heard the opposite, Elizabeth endeavoured to keep her expression impassive.
"So really, if Milton wants to be involved in John's upbringing, to teach him to ride and whatnot, it is as an affectionate uncle."
The man was, at best, an absent figure in his daughters' lives, and Elizabeth had little desire for him to interfere with her child. Nonetheless, she relied too much on her husband's family for management of Somerford Park, and for ties to that world. She was a country gentleman's daughter, and though she had had no greater ambitious than to be a soldier's wife, she was not wholly ignorant of the benefits her son would reap from connections to the aristocracy.
With all of this in mind, she agreed with Mary that any interest in her son on Milton's part was sweet. She watched the gentleman out of the corner of her eye for the rest of the evening.
oOoOoOo
Tuesday 6th June 1797
The Countess Fitzwilliam was not woman to love her family unconditionally. Her husband was a useful man, charming and well-mannered, and generally aligned with the politics of her own family, so made a pleasant enough gentleman to admire. Her eldest son had earned her love through being a boy born early in her marriage, and this was as close to unconditional love as she would ever manage. Her next eldest child, Cassandra, had earned her love through her pretty curls, bright eyes, and early talent for French and Italian. Her second daughter, Albreda, lasted a full seventeen years with only perfunctory affection until she secured the hand of the Marquess of Lyveden as a husband. This love was now useless, however, as Albreda preferred to spend all of her time at their Northampton estate and rarely corresponded with her mother. The youngest child, Richard, only earned his mother's love in death.
One relation Lady Fitzwilliam was more than passingly fond of was her nephew, Viscount Duncannon. Duncannon was deserving of her love because, when compared to his shameful father (her shameful brother), he was rather a Good Sort. She was therefore quite gratified to open a letter at the breakfast table declaring his intent to visit.
"Oh I am pleased," she informed the family, "it has been too long since he made it all the way up to Yorkshire."
"Harumph," said the Earl, who was bleary-eyed and not yet fed.
Duncannon's luggage arrived first, and then the gentleman himself, a day later. His welcoming committee consisted of Elizabeth and Milton: Lizzy because she had missed him dearly, and Milton because he had been ordered in his mother's place, the Countess staying inside to avoid the summer dust.
Trotting up to the steps of the house with gusto, Duncannon nigh on threw himself from his horse in his eagerness to grasp Elizabeth's hands and kiss them tenderly. He turned away for a moment to vigorously grasp Milton's forearm before he demanded to see his godson.
"Have some patience, Lord Duncannon, or at the very least some manners!" she cried, though she was delighted by his enthusiasm.
The usual courtesies were discharged in due course. Duncannon disappeared upstairs to wash off the road and change, then spent a half hour with the family becoming reacquainted with their foibles. The newcomer regaled them with tales of the improvements he had made to Hensleigh Castle, and issued an invitation for when they were next in the South.
The Viscount also brought more important news – he was to be married.
"You have no doubt been kept updated on our courtship by the gossip columns, though I know not why they pay me any attention, but you shall hear it in person before the announcement is published. I am to be married to Lady Maria Fane. I am in love!"
The Earl rose to thump him heartily on the shoulder.
"That is one of Westmorland's girls, is it not? Good show, my man!"
"I seem to remember her as a very pretty thing," Milton recalled, "all brown curls and bosom."
"Milton!" Lady Fitzwilliam and Mary cried in unison.
"And she cannot be a day over seventeen," he continued, unabashed.
"She is eighteen, and to be my wife, so watch your mouth, man," Duncannon scowled.
"Oh I mean no harm in it, I'm happy for you."
Elizabeth waited until the room had cleared before she took Duncannon's hand and squeezed it joyfully. Her heart was full. Here was the man she held as a dear friend and brother, in love! There were tears in her eyes as she wished him well. Though she did not know Lady Maria, she must be the best of women for Duncannon to love her so.
"Thank you, Elizabeth," he murmured in reply.
When they finally made it to the nursery, little John was shocked and distressed as a strange man scooped him and embraced him fiercely.
"Oh put him down, he does not know you!" Elizabeth laughed, gently kissing away the boy's startled tears.
"Well that is simply a travesty, son," he said solemnly to the child as he took John's hand between a thumb and forefinger to shake, "we simply must become acquainted. Tell me, are you long from Town?"
The boy did not warm to his godfather that evening, but by the next day John would happily take the sugar biscuits Duncannon handed him (though this was no great reflection of the boy's regard, as he would take a sugar biscuit from almost anyone). There was something enchanting about watching her child babble nonsensical stories to his godfather. Sitting quietly in a corner, Elizabeth enjoyed Duncannon's enraptured nods as he listened to the adventures of John's tiny wooden horse, told two or three words at a time.
That they spent most of the time together did not go unnoticed by the family. On a light walk through the park under delicate parasols, Mary remarked in her obliviously airy way that it was very well Lady Maria did not know Mrs Fitzwilliam, or she would be quite jealous. Elizabeth was quick to defend her sisterly affection for Duncannon, but Mary waved her off.
"We all know you could never love another besides the Colonel, have no fear about that."
Others were less inclined to believe their friendship was an innocent one. After dinner one night, when the party was beginning to break away to bed or quiet retreats elsewhere in the house, Milton caught Elizabeth on the stairs. Duncannon had retired just moments before.
"I'm sure no one would comment if you slipped into his room" he said, nodding in the direction of the bachelor's wing. His hand was hot at her elbow. "Make the most of it before he's off on his honeymoon."
"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth cried, thoroughly taken aback.
"We're men and women of the world here, Mrs Fitzwilliam. As long as you are discrete about it-" Elizabeth felt a shiver of revulsion as Milton's eyes raked over her person "-you should do as you please. You should do what pleases you."
"Excuse me! Please, excuse me."
"There's no need to worry about speculation regarding your stay at Hensleigh when Richard was on the Continent, that would require too far a stretch of the imagination from anyone who knew you with Richard." From the expression on his face, Elizabeth thought his imagination required little encouragement. "Now, don't let me keep you."
Elizabeth wrenched her arm away from him. As she made it to the top of the stairs, she heard him call,
"Good night!"
oOoOoOo
[1] During the second half of the 18th century, wigs evolved from shoulder-length curly monstrosities to shorter affairs. The popularity of wigs ground to a halt, however, in the mid-1790s, when William Pitt (the then Prime Minister) introduced a hair powder tax. This was compounded by a flour shortage (sifted wheat flower was often used as white hair powder), and the fate of the wigs which were already falling out of fashion was decided. The end of the 1700s saw trends turn towards short, natural hair and long sideburns – as the 19th century progressed, this evolved into the very-hairiness of the Victorian period.
[2] Pall-mall or paille-maille was a lawn game played from the 16th to early 19th century. It was the precursor to croquet, with a mallet used to hit a ball down an alley and through an iron hoop at the end, in as few hits as possible.
[3] I couldn't get my hands on a map of the original grounds, which were designed by Humphry Repton in the 1780s – the self-proclaimed successor to Capability Brown, he described it as one of his most ambitious projects. The Wentworth Woodhouse website says "the house would once have sat within vast pleasure gardens" and that "monuments remaining within the grounds include, The Punch Bowl – a 15 ft. high decorative urn dating from 1837, an 18th Century Ionic temple and the magnificent Camellia house. Also of particular note, is the massive South Terrace, with a 1500 ft. long retaining wall, built for the 1st Marquess of Rockingham." As I've never visited, I'm going to making most of the details up. Descriptions of the building itself are accurate, however – yes, they really did build a second, MASSIVE house right against the first because the West Front wasn't grand enough.