August 2nd, 1771. The Blue Boar Inn, Leicester.
"This accursed inn," fumed Edward Gardiner, solicitor. "We could've been well on our way home if it weren't for the food in this here accursed inn."
He paced the hallways without stopping, worried about his good lady wife, forced to give birth in the afore mentioned accursed inn due to circumstances outside both of their control.
A se'nnight before, their carriage had suffered some slight damage due to an unexpectedly deep hole in the road. Travelling back from Nottingham, where Mr. Gardiner had given away in marriage his youngest sister to Sir James Lincoln. The last of his sisters now married, Mr. Gardiner was free to return to his home and his practice in Meryton. He would have done so, but for the string of exceptionally bad luck that had been theirs since their arrival at this accursed inn.
The Blue Boar Inn, where reputedly King Richard III had spent his last night on this earth, and where reputedly the lady owner had been murdered in that very same bed, the Kings's bed. After a case of food poisoning decimated his team of drivers and outriders, his wife had gone into labour early, whilst still at this accursed inn. Mr. Gardiner, normally a level-headed man, was just a wee bit more worried than he might otherwise have been.
While pacing the halls, he heard a carriage driving up he road in great haste. Hurrying over to a window, Mr. Gardiner espied a large coach and six come to a brusque halt outside, and then observed a door being thrown open and a woman, clearly bleeding and in pain, being lifted out. Not much later, a convoy of men carrying the bleeding lady, bustled up the stairs and into his wife's room.
"What the devil?" Mr. Gardiner roared, when a physician hurried after the party.
"Breech baby," he gasped. "Might loose her. Put her in with your wife and the midwife, easier to attend both at the same time."
Mr. Gardiner just nodded, resumed his pacing and began to pray. Clearly, nothing good was to be expected whilst residing at this accursed inn.
When the door to the birthing room opened again, four men filed out.
"My Lord," one addressed a distinguished-looking man. "I have taken rooms for you and your party on the floor below."
The men descended the stairs, presumably to their rooms, and Mr. Gardiner continued his pacing.
Inside the birthing room, both the physician and the midwife were struggling to deliver the babe that the second mother was trying to expel, despite the child's unfortunate position. The midwife pressed and prodded into the mother's abdomen until the baby finally gave way and turned, then immediately sank into the birthing canal. Howling with pain, the woman delivered a boy child, who entered the world squalling with indignation. The woman fainted immediately after, and the midwife returned to Mrs. Gardiner.
"Ye'r doin' well," she said to her first patient. "Whene'er you feel ya need ta push, ya push!"
Mrs. Gardiner nodded and when the pains continued, she pushed with all her might until she at last expelled a tiny infant. He nurse took him, cleaned him and swaddled him, then put him next to the other child to sleep. The midwife helped Mrs. Gardiner expel the afterbirth and massaged her belly to start to process of contracting the womb. When one of the boys woke, and only one mother was awake, the midwife made a snap decision.
"Can ya feed tha both o' 'em?" she asked and when Mrs. Gardiner nodded, she was given a stout infant, who latched on and drank his fill whilst clenching and unclenching his little fists. Mrs. Gardiner was charmed by the infant when he grabbed her little finger and did not let go.
The physician and the midwife now concentrated all their efforts on the second women, who hadn't regained consciousness. By pushing on her belly, they finally succeeded in delivering the afterbirth, after which the woman's bleeding began to slow. The nurse made sure both babies were kept clean and fed, and otherwise allowed both patients as much rest as possible.
On the third day after the boy's births, the other mother awoke. Mrs. Gardiner was feeding the first baby, so the other Lady, who introduced herself as Lady Penelope Fitzwilliam, fed the other infant.
Now awake and seemingly on the mend, the Lady and the infant she held were released into His Lordship's care, while Mr. Gardiner moved back into the room where his wife was.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were pleased to have a son, since their two other children were both daughters. They named the little boy Edward James, after his father and grandfather.
Little Edward was his parents' pride and joy. He was an exceptionally bright young man. As he grew up, he often attempted to steer his two elder sisters into better understanding, but they never seemed to grasp matters as easily as he did.
Eddy Gardiner was disinclined to enter into his father's footsteps and instead of the law, he chose trade as his profession. As with all endeavours, he entered his trade with all diligence and thoughtfulness that defined his character. He travelled the length and breadth of the British isles to negotiate prices for raw materials and produce. One of his travels brought him to Derbyshire, where he closed some very lucrative contracts for wool. He met some men of considerable higher station than himself, among them the young and inexperienced Earl Fitzwilliam, and the young but rather cunning Mr. Darcy. The latter negotiated a much better price for his wool than the former.
While in Derbyshire, Gardiner made the acquaintance of the beautiful Madeline, daughter of reverend William Barton. After a short courtship and engagement, Madeline Gardiner, née Barton, travelled home to London with him.
Eddy Gardiner's sisters had both married before him. One had married his father's successor, the other a major land holder near Meryton. Gardiner liked both his brother in laws, they were each intelligent men. He sometimes wondered why the both of them had chosen such silly wives as the Gardiner sisters were, especially when he himself had chosen a brilliant wife instead, but he didn't let it bother him.
Relations between all Gardiner children, their spouses and their children were always cordial.
8th September 1811, Meryton Assembly Halls
Attending an assembly such as this, against his own inclinations, had put Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in a foul mood. Still, he followed the garrulous and slightly portly knight in order to be introduced to the locals. After the man's own family, a rather loud matron and her brood were introduced. Mr. Darcy, feeling all the distinction of rank and fortune, was disinclined to allow any introductions. Alas, the garrulous knight suspected no such thing and therefore introduced to him one Mrs. Bennet and her bevy of daughters, whose names he did not bother to remember.
The prattling matron seemed eager to push her daughters forward. When he did not ask any of them to dance, bowed and walked away, he could hear her exclamation behind him: "Well, I never!"
In fact, the loud matron with her unpleasant, grating voice, reminded him most forcefully of his loud, uncouth and rather feeble-minded uncle, the Earl. And that, Mr. Darcy thought with savage glee, was by no means a compliment to the lady!