Hello everyone! Thanks so much, as always, for the kind words and enthusiasm for the latest chapter. You guys rock! I'm also very sorry for taking so long to get a new chapter to you - I hit a depression low just a day or so after posting the last chapter, and it has been especially difficult to get any work done the last couple of weeks. Thankfully, the last few days have been much better, and I am back at writing again.
I want to clear up the matter of Elizabeth's title for the guests I could not reply to directly. The following paragraphs are copied from Wikipedia's article on courtesy titles in the United Kingdom:
Divorced wives and widows who remarry
It used to be customary for women with higher titles from one marriage to retain them even on subsequent remarriage. As Lord Macnaughten put it in the case of Earl Cowley v Countess Cowley [1901] AC 450: "...everybody knows that it is a very common practice for peeresses (not being peeresses in their own right) after marrying commoners to retain the title lost by such marriage. It is not a matter of right. It is merely a matter of courtesy, and allowed by the usages of society." The divorce court, in the above case, granted the earl an injunction preventing his former wife from using his title; however this was overturned by the Court of Appeal, whose decision was confirmed by the House of Lords, on the grounds that ordinary courts of law lacked any jurisdiction in matters of honour.[12]
The same practice was followed by widows who remarried. A prominent example was Catherine Parr, the last wife of Henry VIII, who continued to be known as Queen Catherine even after her marriage to The Lord Seymour of Sudeley (and, indeed, she disputed precedence with the wife of her brother-in-law the Duke of Somerset on this basis). This usage died out later in the twentieth century, and women who remarry now ordinarily take a new married name and do not retain their former title.[13]
Basically, given the time period in which this story takes place, while Elizabeth would technically lose her title by marrying a commoner, by courtesy she would be allowed to continue using it. And after a full decade in the role, with her eldest son still another (plus one more year) from his majority, people are still going to think of her as the Marchioness of Stashwick and she will still be addressed as Lady Stashwick/my lady/your ladyship.
Chapter Nine
The lateness of the hour at which the dinner party broke up led to a lot of cranky children, as most of them had fallen asleep long before the adults took notice of the time and had to be woken so they could be taken home.
Elizabeth was not surprised when her three elder children slept late the next morning. She and Mary were just finishing breakfast with the latter's children and Meg when Harry, Isabella, and Tom entered the breakfast room together, little Tom still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Mamma," said Harry as he walked up to her. "I am sorry about last night."
Elizabeth turned to him. "And why are you sorry?"
"It was wrong of me to hit my cousin. A marquess should rise above such base behavior," said Harry. "I… I remembered Papa telling me that once, when I got mad and wanted to hit Richard Weston for pushing Bella and making her fall in a mud puddle."
With a small smile about her lips, Elizabeth held out a hand to her son, and he drew a breath as he placed his own in it. "Your papa was a very wise man, Harry. And he was right. Violence is not the proper way to solve a dispute. It would have been better had you asked one of your cousins or a nurse to fetch Anthony's parents—it was their purview to discipline him if they deemed it necessary, not yours."
"But Clara is just a little girl, and she was crying, Mamma!" cried Tom. "Aren't gentlemen s'posed to defend ladies?"
"You are indeed, but violence should never be your first choice for doing so," Elizabeth replied. "It is better if you can resolve a dispute using self-control and intellect rather than your fists—there is more to gallantry than fighting, and a true gentleman has no need to resort to violence. Do you understand what I am saying, Harry?"
Harry sighed. "Yes, Mamma."
"And you will offer a genuine apology to Anthony when next you see him?"
Her son nodded again, and Elizabeth was satisfied. With a smile, she encouraged her elder children to eat their breakfast. When they were all of them gathered together in the morning room later, and the children were occupied with books and games—and Isabella once more with pencil and sketchbook in hand—Elizabeth spoke of the night before with Mary. After she had finished her recitation, her sister sat for nearly a minute staring at her in wide-eyed silence.
"Mr. Darcy braids hair? Are you certain?" she asked at last.
Elizabeth laughed. "I saw it myself—and believe me, I am as astonished as you are, given his behavior in Meryton when first we knew him. One might think that my being all but related to him, given my marriage to his aunt's brother, I would know him better than I do, but I still hardly know the man after ten years. Even when Henry and I were at Disley Court for Christmas four years ago, I was not much in company with him—he spent a great deal of time with his cousins and I with the ladies, Henry, or my own children."
"And you were carrying Margaret then, as I recall," observed Mary.
"I was, yes—so I was not able to participate in many of the outdoor activities—"
"Like the snowball fight!" cried Harry from across the room.
Elizabeth laughed again. "Yes, Harry—and I must say I was quite envious of all of you who took part in it. Snowball fights are one of my favorite winter activities."
"Your mother was always engaging in snowball fights with the boys of our neighborhood when we were girls," said Mary with a grin.
"And Grandmamma let you?" queried Isabella. "She was so upset with me just for racing with my cousins and Uncle John last time we were at Longbourn."
After exchanging a grin with her sister, Elizabeth looked to her daughter and said, "To own the truth, dearest, she did not. Your grandmamma was always very vexed with me for preferring sport with the boys over sitting quietly to more ladylike pursuits."
Isabella tilted her head in thought. After a moment, she said, "Papa didn't mind me playing with boys. Why should she mind? They were the same age."
Elizabeth nodded. "Not quite the same age; your papa was three years older. But though girls and boys are expected to conduct themselves differently, your father understood even young ladies have a need to express themselves through physical exertion. That is why he allowed you to play with boys as well as girls."
"And what think you, Lizzy, about Mr. Darcy calling here?" asked Mary then.
"What is there to think, Mary?" Elizabeth replied. "He has secluded himself and his daughter at Pemberley for the entirety of her life—and I can certainly understand the inclination myself, after losing Henry. But Darcy now realizes that it is detrimental to Miss Darcy's development to be kept away from other children. He asked if he might call with her so that she could spend some time with my daughters, and yours."
"Something tells me, Lizzy, that my daughters were hardly an inducement to the gentleman."
Elizabeth frowned. "Well, he did not know at first that you were here, but when I told him he was delighted with the idea that Miss Darcy would have two new acquaintances aside from Isabella and Margaret. Well, three, as she will be meeting Bennet as well."
Mary shook her head and sighed softly. "Sister, I believe you have mistaken my meaning."
"Then what was your meaning?"
"Only that Mr. Darcy has been widowed for six years. You are also widowed. Perhaps his request to visit here with his daughter is perfectly innocent, but I think you must consider that there is more to his intentions than helping Miss Darcy make new friends," Mary replied.
"What nonsense!" Elizabeth cried. "Last night was the first time I've met with the man in four years. Mr. Darcy thought me only tolerable when I was young and reasonably pretty; now that I'm a decade older, with a bit more softness about my hips and a line or two about my eyes—and unfortunately, a couple of gray hairs on my head—there is no reason whatsoever that he should even think of me in that manner."
"Firstly, Lizzy, motherhood has made you even more beautiful, not less," Mary said firmly. "Secondly, Mr. Darcy's wife died six years ago. Henry's first wife had been gone six years when he decided to pursue a second wife—"
"Six years is hardly a standard period of time for widowed men to seek new wives, Mary," Elizabeth retorted. "Just as a year is hardly a standard for ladies."
"Actually, a year is the standard," Mary reminded her. "For both, really. I simply could not help noticing the coincidence between my brother and Mr. Darcy."
"And that is all it is. Really, sister, though I tolerated your asking the question before we came here, I really do not understand why the notion of my marrying again even entered your head!" Elizabeth said, perhaps a little more sharply than she'd intended, for Mary colored as she looked away from her. "You know how much I adored Henry, and as such you should already know that just because I am eligible to marry again doesn't mean I have any desire to seek another husband."
"Mamma can't marry again!" cried Tom suddenly. "She's married to Papa!"
Elizabeth cursed her temper for leading her to speak too loudly and drawing the children's attention. She turned to where the boys were playing games to look at her son and, with a sigh, said to him, "Dearest, a lady who has lost her husband can marry again, if she wishes. Just as a man who has lost his wife may marry again."
"But you just said you don't want to, Aunt Lizzy," said Prudence.
"That is correct, Pru," said Elizabeth with a nod. "I am not even thinking about it—or I wouldn't be, if others did not bring it up."
The last she said with a pointed look at her sister. Mary sighed and said, "I am sorry, sister. I do not mean to distress or vex you. But others will speak of it, if Mr. Darcy is seen entering your home with any frequency, once it is known you are in town."
Elizabeth scoffed. "Let them talk. Do you think I shall care if the gossips of the ton speculate about me? Besides, I have agreed to one visit—not a bloody courtship."
"Mamma, language!" Harry chided her.
Though it was on the tip of her tongue to admonish her son for correcting her, Elizabeth laughed instead. "You are right, Harry. I should not speak such words."
Looking to Mary once more, she added, "And I am sorry as well, Mary. I certainly do not mean to take my frustration out on you. But truly, I sincerely doubt Mr. Darcy has any motive other than securing agreeable companions for his daughter."
The day progressed without further discussion of marriage or Mr. Darcy's coming visit. Later that evening, after tucking her eldest daughter into bed, Elizabeth was stopped from departing the girls' room by Isabella calling out to her.
"Mamma, may I ask you something?" the little girl asked.
Elizabeth turned back. "Of course, dearest," she replied.
For a moment, Isabella fidgeted with the edge of the counterpane, then said, "I… I miss Papa, and I wish he was still here with my whole heart, but…"
Looking up, she added, "Do you think he would be angry if you did marry someone else?"
Suppressing a sigh, Elizabeth crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. "No, Bella," she said. "After all, I was your papa's second wife, after Adelaide's mamma died. He had a very generous heart and would not begrudge me finding such happiness a second time, as he did."
The expression Isabella wore as she looked up at her surprised Elizabeth with its solemnity. "Indeed—I do not think Papa would wish you unhappy without him forever. He would want you to smile again."
At this, Elizabeth did smile as she reached to caress her daughter's cheek. "He certainly would, dearest. Your papa did love to see me smile."
"Why did Papa never learn to braid hair?" Isabella asked then. "Mr. Darcy braids Clara's hair."
"I suppose he never felt the need to," Elizabeth replied. "You've always had a maid to tend you, or me, or one of your aunts. Mr. Darcy learned to braid hair because…"
Her words trailed off as Elizabeth realized she'd been about to say "because he had to"—which was not strictly true. He could have left the tending of his daughter's hair to a maid or her governess. But instead, he'd wanted to—no, he'd been determined to—be more involved with Clara's daily routine than he had to be, because it was yet more time they got to spend together.
Because she had no mother to do it for her.
"Mr. Darcy learned to braid hair because Clara has no mamma to braid it for her," Elizabeth said at last. "He has a very large estate and as such is a very busy man, and braiding Miss Darcy's hair rather than leaving it to the maid allows them to spend a little more of their day together than they would otherwise."
She tilted her head then and asked. "You do not feel as though your papa did not love you, do you?"
Isabella's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Oh, no, Mamma! I know Papa loved me! He let me play with boys, and ride on his back when I was little, and he would sit and listen to me play the harp, and he would sit very, very still when I was learning to draw portraits. He didn't have to do any of that. I just…"
"Just what, dearest?"
A small smile turned up the corners of Isabella's lips. "I don't mind that Papa did not learn to braid my hair, but I think it would have been nice if he did. I think it's very sweet that Mr. Darcy learned to braid hair, so he could spend more time with his little girl."
Elizabeth returned her smile. "Yes, Bella, it was very sweet of him indeed."
-…-
Monday morning came, and as Elizabeth, Mary, and the children were sitting to breakfast, the morning post was brought in. There was but one letter from their mother, as few others knew they were in town, and it was so thick that Elizabeth suspected it contained a letter from Lydia also—she had a habit of waiting until Mrs. Bennet wrote to send any news.
On opening the letter, she found her guess correct and offered Mary the letter from Lydia while she read Mrs. Bennet's. Her mother's letter was full of the usual gossip from Longbourn Village and Meryton and ended with two full paragraphs detailing her little brother's accomplishments and growth. She concluded with a third, smaller paragraph, saying:
John really is the most accomplished young man in the whole neighborhood, though I know you will call me biased. But I declare that a very smart boy is my reward for being so patient in taking so long to bring your father a son. You really must come and see him soon, Lizzy, now you are so close—London is but four hours or so from Longbourn, surely you can come for a week to see your parents and your siblings and nieces.
Give my love to Mary and all my grandchildren. And if it be not too much trouble, when you go shopping, please get more of that beautiful lace that Madame Le Blanc sells in her shop. I am sure Lydia has asked the same in her letter, for we are both so very fond of it, and it looks so well on us and my granddaughters.
Your mother,
J.G. Bennet
Elizabeth shook her head and smiled as she set her mother's letter aside. Mary was just finishing Lydia's letter a well, so they exchanged them. Lydia, naturally, spoke of her daughters and being a "leader of fashion and courtesy" in Meryton, as she usually did. The letter did indeed include a request for more of the lace Elizabeth had last bought for her and Mrs. Bennet (never mind that it had been more than a year and that Madame le Blanc might not even sell it anymore) and mentioned that she and her husband were trying for a son.
Obviously, I know that we'll not know the sex until the child is born, but I shall admit to you, Lizzy, that I have been praying more than I ever have in my life that God will give us a boy—just like Cate prays for a daughter. Lady Lucas is still sour that Charlotte lost out on Longbourn and that one of our mother's daughters is to eventually replace her at Lucas Lodge and has lately been rather unkindly making a point of reminding me that I have not provided John with an heir, as if I am somehow a failure as a wife for only having daughters. She reminds me that David Lucas has two sons now, and that his eldest will inherit should John and I have no son.
She's such a miserable old woman now, Lizzy. I fail to understand what Sir William ever saw in her.
A sigh escaped Elizabeth as she finished reading her sister's letter, which drew a knowing glance from Mary. "It would seem that little has changed at home."
Mary nodded. "Indeed. What need have we even to visit when our mother and sister tell us every little thing that happens there?"
"And that on top of their usual litany of complaints and boasts," Elizabeth observed, lifting Lydia's letter. "Lydia freely admitted to having curried favor with one of Mr. Harper's suppliers by mentioning she is sister to the Marchioness of Stashwick. When Mr. Harper confirmed her claim, he got a discount on his bill, and she got a discount on hers in gratitude."
"Yes, it is rather improper that she continues to use her connection to advantage," Mary agreed.
"Though hardly unexpected," Elizabeth continued. "For all her changes for the better over the years, Lydia is still Lydia."
The family gathered in the morning room after breakfast, where Elizabeth and Mary worked on samplers, the elder children sat to a table with the governess, and Margaret and Sarah were being watched over by a nursemaid. They had sat so occupied for nearly an hour when the knocker was heard.
"Do you think Mr. Darcy is come with Clara?" asked Isabella.
Elizabeth set her sampler aside. "I do not know, Bella."
"You should address her as Miss Darcy, Bella," said Harry. "As she's not family, it is improper to refer to her by her Christian name like we do our cousins."
"She's almost a cousin," Isabella protested. "Mr. Darcy is Aunt Disley's nephew, is he not? If she is his aunt and our aunt, and Clara is his daughter, does that not make us cousins?"
"It is a little more complicated than that, Bella," Elizabeth told her as the door to the drawing room slid open to reveal the butler.
"Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy to see you, my lady," said Simmonds.
Elizabeth stood. "Thank you, Simmonds. Do show them in."
Simmonds bowed and turned to open the pocket doors wider, then stepped aside to allow the visitors to step into the room. Darcy held Clara's hand in one of his, and in her other she clutched a small bouquet of flowers; he bowed from the shoulders and the little girl wobbled a curtsey.
"Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth greeted them warmly. "Welcome to Stashwick House."
Darcy returned her smile. "Thank you, Your Ladyship," said he, before looking down at Clara. "Dearest, haven't you a gift for Lady Stashwick?"
Clara beamed a smile at him, then released her grip on his hand to walk across the room, stopping before Elizabeth to hold out the flowers. "These are for you, m'lady. Papa says it is a courtesy to bring a present to a lady when you first visit her house."
Elizabeth took the bouquet of yellow roses and tulips with a smile at Clara and brought them to her nose to inhale the sweet fragrance. "Thank you very much, Miss Darcy," said she, before lifting her eyes to Darcy. "Must be a fairly new courtesy."
Darcy colored a little, and she could tell he was fighting a smile. This made Elizabeth's own grin widen as she made to introduce Mary, her children, and her own youngest daughter to Clara.
"Mary, would you mind terribly ringing for a servant? I should like a vase for these very pretty flowers Miss Darcy has brought me," said Elizabeth when the introductions were done.
Mary smiled and went to the bellpull. Clara was then invited by Meg and Sarah to join them in playing with their dolls, which the little girl happily accepted. Isabella then stepped up to Elizabeth and tugged on her mother's sleeve.
"Yes, my love?" Elizabeth asked her.
Isabella gestured for her to lower her head, and when she had done, Elizabeth could not help but smile at what she heard. "My dear, you must ask him that yourself; I cannot speak as to Mr. Darcy's interests."
Darcy looked curious and Isabella embarrassed, but with a stuttering voice, she managed to ask, "D-do you like m-music, Mr. Darcy?"
He inclined his head. "I do indeed, Lady Isabella. My sister is very accomplished at music and teaches her daughters herself. But you may already know this, as her daughter Lady Charlotte is your niece."
Isabella lifted a hand to her lips and giggled, leading Elizabeth to ask, "What amuses you about that, Bella?"
"It's just like Harry said the other day, Mamma. It's funny to have nieces and nephews almost the same age, but even more to have a niece who is older than me."
She looked again to Darcy and said, "Lady Winterbourne plays the pianoforte, sir. I don't play that instrument; I play the harp. I…" She paused and colored again, then continued with "I just wondered if maybe you might like to hear some music while you visit with Mamma and Aunt Mary. I have not practiced in a long time and really must take it up again."
Darcy's answering smile warmed Elizabeth's heart a little; he bowed his head to Isabella and replied, "I should be delighted to hear you, Lady Isabella. And as you may not know it, Lady Winterbourne also plays the harp and the lyre, though the pianoforte is her favorite of the three instruments."
"I play the pianoforte a little," spoke up Prudence. "And so does Aunt Lizzy and Mamma. But I'm not as good as they are; I'm just learning."
Darcy glanced at Mary, surely remembering how poorly she had played in the past but was diplomatic in his reply. "I am sure you will improve as you practice, Miss Winstead, as your aunt and your mamma did."
Mary smiled knowingly. "And I did, Mr. Darcy, once I had a proper master to teach me not to play so pedantically. Perhaps after Isabella has played a song, Prudence, you and I can entertain our guests together?"
"A splendid idea, Mary. Shall we move into the music room?" Elizabeth suggested.
This was agreed upon by all. After a maid had brought a vase with water for the bouquet of flowers, the governess was relieved of her charges for a time, and everyone moved into the music room. The nursemaid sat with the three younger girls and the dolls across the room while Harry, Tom, and Bennet entertained themselves playing spillikins.
After a few moments of listening to Isabella play, Darcy turned to Elizabeth and said, "Your daughter plays remarkably well, my lady."
Elizabeth smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy; Isabella will be pleased you think so. My daughter is also quite the artist—do you see that portrait of Henry there?"
She pointed to a watercolor painting that hung over the fireplace. Darcy looked up at it, suddenly standing and moving to examine the portrait more closely. Elizabeth joined him in doing so, and he turned his gaze to her.
"Lady Isabella did this?" he asked.
Elizabeth nodded. "She presented it to her father the Christmas before he passed."
"It is an extraordinary resemblance to Lord Stashwick—your daughter would have been what, only seven at the time?"
"Yes, though she turned eight just two weeks later."
Darcy glanced to where Isabella sat plucking away at the strings of her harp. "Extraordinary," he said, then looked back to Elizabeth with a smile. "Your daughter is very gifted, my lady."
Elizabeth chuckled. "She is a perfect example—like your sister—of what can be achieved with wealth enough to pay for the best masters. I have Henry to thank for that."
"Perhaps so, Lady Stashwick, but even the best masters cannot be given all the credit for innate talent given by God," Darcy rejoined. "Had you not told me this was your daughter's work, I'd have thought it painted by a professional."
"I thank you again on Bella's behalf, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth as she turned to move back to her seat on the sofa. "It brings me comfort to know that if my daughter should ever have need or desire, she has talent enough to earn her own fortune."