Tapestry of Lives, Chapter 64

TAPESTRY OF LIVES

by Jean M.

Chapter 64. New Threads.
April 1820

“I say, Darce—stop pacing and have another whiskey. You’re making me dizzy.”

“Thank you, Bingley, but for the fourth time, I do not wish for another whiskey. As you can plainly see, I have not yet finished the first that you poured for me.”

Charles squinted at the glass that had been set upon the mantle several hours before (and was, indeed, nearly full) and then at the half empty bottle in his hand. “But this is whiskey from the case my father left! I brought it just for you, in your time of need! If you’ve not drunk it, then where’s it gone?”

Mr. Darcy gave his friend a dark look and muttered, “Drink your whiskey and go back to sleep, Bingley,” before turning his attention back to pacing the length of the library.

“I haven’t been… have I?” Charles was distracted from his argument by the glass in his hand that now appeared to have magically refilled itself. “Oh whatever.” He downed the whiskey rather more quickly than his father might have approved of and soon drifted back to the Land of Nod.

Meanwhile, the Earl of Matlock continued snoring without a pause.

In truth, Darcy was relieved. Although he appreciated that both the Bingleys and Fitzwilliams had come to Pemberley in time for the birth of his first child, there were moments when he very much would have preferred to be alone in this particular vigil.

He had been awakened not long after midnight when Elizabeth had rolled to the side of their bed and tried to stand. Since returning from London, her belly had grown at such an astonishing rate that Will had found it nearly impossible to drag his eyes away whenever his wife was in the same room. Fortunately, Lizzy had claimed to find his fixation amusing and teased that it must be something in the Derbyshire air.

When he realized she was trying to rise, Will had leapt from the bed to help. After using the water closet, she had tried returning to sleep, but after enduring nearly an hour of restless wakefulness, Elizabeth finally admitted that the birthing pains had begun. Darcy had immediately insisted on waking the doctor. When she protested, he pointed out that the man had been hired to stay at Pemberley for precisely this reason and might as well be of use.

The specialist turned out to have little information to offer other than to agree that the birth had probably begun. He recommended that both Darcys try to sleep or, if that was not possible for the lady, that she attempt to walk. Fitzwilliam had insisted on doing whatever she did, and as Elizabeth knew it would be quite impossible to even feign sleep, he had found himself walking with his wife through Pemberley’s halls and galleries through the wee hours of the morning, entertaining her with stories of the various Darcy ancestors who stared down upon them.

The rising sun was just beginning to flood the hills with light when Elizabeth had doubled over in pain for the first time. Thankfully, the servants were up and about by then and, in an instant, there had been a dozen hands reaching to help her, Mrs. Reynolds and Tilly at the fore. Darcy had demanded the doctor and a footman had been sent running. Fortunately, the physician was a learned man with experience in both pregnant women and nervous husbands.

Fitzwilliam had helped Elizabeth to the door of the birthing chamber and then she had been taken away from him. He had been preparing to argue when his aunt and uncle found him in the hallway, doubtless summoned by Mrs. Reynolds.

“No, Darcy; I will check on her. Why don’t you go have some breakfast, or perhaps there is some work on the estate you should see to?” Lady Eleanor had given her husband a pointed look and then slipped into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Fitzwilliam continued staring at the door until Matlock caught his elbow and drew him away. “Come, son; there is nothing left for us to do here. It is up to the women, now.”

This statement might have been meant to reassure the younger man, but Will found himself even more agitated than before. However, in his distraction, Lord Henry succeeded in drawing him away and in short order Darcy found himself in the breakfast parlor with Bingley and Matlock as if it was any other Tuesday morning. When his uncle attempted to serve him a plate piled with kippers and eggs, however, Darcy turned a disturbing shade of green and took coffee and toast in his study, instead.

Nearly an hour had passed and Fitzwilliam had just decided to return upstairs and demand to see his wife when he caught the sound of his aunt’s voice ringing down the hall. When he discovered her in the breakfast parlor, calmly serving coffee to the doctor, however, he was so shocked that he stood in the doorway for a full minute before anyone noticed him.

“Mrs. Bingley is with her sister, Fitzwilliam,” said the Countess in a tone that was meant to be soothing but which sounded to Darcy like an admonishment to a child. He turned on his heel and completely disregarded the voices calling for him to come back.

After ascending the stairs two at a time, Will ignored the fact that he was out of breath and rapped sharply on the door. Before he had lowered his fist, the door opened and Elizabeth stood before him with a mischievous smile.

“And here he is, just as I predicted.” Glancing back over her shoulder, she called, “Jane, I shall be touring the gallery with my handsome husband. Why don’t you go down to breakfast?”

Turning to Mr. Darcy, she took his arm and drew him along the hall. Observing his confused expression, she explained, “Your aunt felt that Bingley and Lord Henry would keep you occupied, but I said… oh!” She leaned on his arm with both hands as a pain took her, leaving Will feeling entirely helpless.

“Are you sure you would not feel better in bed?” he asked worriedly.

“Ahh… ahhh… no.” She took a breath very carefully, and then, reassured that it was over, tugged on his arm again so that she could continue walking. “The doctor believes it will be some hours yet, but walking may help things along.”

“And is there not something I may get for your relief? Tea, perhaps, or a glass of wine?”

Elizabeth only shook her head. “They gave me some broth earlier.” Darcy gave her a sharp look and she rolled her eyes. “I drank it… well, most of it.”

Deciding to accept her answer for the present, Darcy muttered, “Count your blessings. Matlock tried to feed me a plateful of kippers.”

Knowing of her husband’s distaste for that particular delicacy, Lizzy laughed aloud. They continued their strange promenade for another circuit of the halls until the pain immobilized her again. When it faded, she continued to cling to his arm, resting her head against his chest. “I’m frightened, Will,” she finally admitted in a whisper.

He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and held her as close as he dared, burying his face in her hair. “I know, dearest… I know. It will all be well, I promise.”

Normally, Lizzy would have teased him for professing such omnipotence, but today she found that she did not have any zest for the contest. After surviving another round of contractions, she took a deep breath and rallied her spirits. “Well, if you are determined to ignore all the business that I know is piled up on your desk, then perhaps you can tell me about this very mischievous-looking lady whose portrait hangs down at the end of the hall. She looks to me as if she was plotting to pepper the artist’s snuff box.”

The Darcys walked and talked for nearly two hours before Mrs. Reynolds appeared to claim her mistress. “The doctor would like to check how you are progressing, ma’am.”

Left standing at the door again, this time Mr. Darcy found himself drawn downstairs and out to the stables by the other gentlemen. It took some time, but eventually he convinced his uncle that they would have to knock him out and tie him to the horse before he would go riding about the countryside while his wife lay laboring above.

Next, Lord Henry did his best to draw his nephew into a discussion of the pedigrees and breeding plans for the various horses in the Pemberley stables, but when his questions drew only monosyllables, he became understandably exasperated. Fortunately, at that point Bingley came through with an activity that required nothing more than a hound and a stick.

This sequence of events would be repeated with only minor variations for the remainder of the day and into the evening, finally culminating with the current situation wherein Darcy paced the library, entirely sober, while Matlock and Bingley had long ago succumbed to the aforementioned whiskey.

Pemberley’s master was just resolving to return upstairs and storm the birthing room when a very tired Mrs. Bingley appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Darcy? Oh dear—they don’t look as if they have been much use to you… I told Charles that the whiskey might not be such a good idea, but he was so very pleased to have it to offer you, particularly after his father…”

Deciding that it would be faster to seek out the information he desired rather than wait for Jane to get to the point, Darcy stepped around her and took the stairs two at a time. He reached the door just as his aunt was stepping out into the hall.

Taking in his wild appearance, Eleanor smiled kindly and kissed his cheek. “Your wife is a very brave girl, Fitzwilliam. Congratulations.”

Still lacking any solid information, Darcy managed only a small nod before stepping around his aunt and into the room beyond. The drapes were drawn and only a few candles lit, making it very dim and far too much like a funeral vigil for his peace of mind. Even before his eyes adjusted, however, he heard the soft murmur of his wife’s voice. “Elizabeth?”

“Will—come here! There is someone who would very much like to meet you.”

As he drew closer, he could see his wife’s face wreathed in exhausted smiles as she held a small blanket-wrapped bundle to her breast.

She held out her free hand to her husband and he gingerly eased his way onto the bed, as if any sudden movement might cause the whole structure to collapse like a soap bubble. He had barely settled his back against the headboard when she shifted the bundle into his arms and a pair of enormous eyes stared up at him owlishly.

“The doctor says that his eyes will probably darken.”

“Good heavens… wait—did you say ‘he’?” exclaimed the new father.

“Oh, poor Will—did no one tell you yet? Yes, love, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Bennet George Darcy, who arrived in this world with ten fingers and ten wee little toes, and a mighty wail that shook the roof tiles.”

The new father was so overwhelmed that he said nothing for a time, fascinated as two tiny fists grabbed hold of the finger he had extended to brush his son’s forehead. “He is beautiful. Thank you,” he added, leaning over to kiss his wife’s brow.

“Hmmm… I cannot argue—indeed, I can barely look away from him.” She reached over to stroke a little foot before tucking the blanket around it again.

“Bennet…”

“Mmmm…” responded Lizzy drowsily. “I think he looks like a Ben—though he has your nose, you know. A beautiful, beautiful baby boy…”

“But ‘George’? Are you sure?”

“It would honor your father, of course, but also your grandmother, Lady Edna… I have come to like her very much from your stories, and from reading her journals.”

“Bennet George Darcy…” repeated her husband. “Ben…” The babe gurgled and grabbed his father’s finger, thus cementing his fate.

Both mother and son were drifting off to sleep when a light tap came from the servant’s door. Before Darcy could decide what to do, Mrs. Reynolds herself peeked into the room. Assessing the situation quickly, she opened the door a little wider to allow Tilly in with a tray. “We brought up some beef broth for Mrs. Darcy… I know she is exhausted, but it will help her to recover.”

“I am lying right here,” muttered Elizabeth waspishly, though with something less than her usual verve.

Without breaking her stride, the housekeeper merely responded, “Of course, ma’am,” and helped adjust the pillows behind the new mother.

Lizzy took a sip of the broth and then looked toward the older woman with an expression that wavered between defiance and mortification. “Mrs. Reynolds, I believe I may have said some things to you over the last few hours for which I should apologize…”

The housekeeper looked up from the blanket she was folding. “Don’t give it another thought, dear.” Taking in the little family, her face softened to a gentle smile. “I am very, very glad it all turned out so well.”

When Tilly took back the empty dish and went off to see to some other duty, Mrs. Reynolds appeared to take hold of herself again. “Sir, will you be informing the staff of the happy news yourself, or would you prefer me to do it?”

Darcy was so fascinated by the baby in his arms that it required a gentle poke from his wife to gain his attention. Once Mrs. Reynolds had repeated the question, he looked to Elizabeth. “Do you mind?”

Doing her best to suppress the wave of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of letting little Ben out of her sight, she smiled; “Yes, of course… keep him wrapped up, though, won’t you? And don’t let Charles take him… Jane said something about him dropping John Thomas on his head…”

A great yawn split her face and Darcy leaned over to kiss her forehead again. “I shall carry him as if he is the most precious treasure in all the world, for that is exactly what he is, but for you.”

Lizzy smiled warmly and pulled his head down for a quick kiss before breaking into another yawn.

“Sleep, dearest, and I shall bring young Master Bennet back to you before you know we have gone.”

Lizzy settled deeper into the covers with a contented look on her face. When Tilly had returned to sit with her mistress, Mrs. Reynolds led the Master down to the servants’ hall where most of the indoor and even some of the outdoor staff were gathered.

Observing the anticipation on their faces, Darcy could not have been prouder to share the event with those who had cared for him and his family all his life. Holding the babe aloft so that all might see him, he called, “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to present Master Bennet George Darcy, the heir of Pemberley.”

The staff cheered loudly and, though it was a joyous sound, it did of course awaken the young gentleman in question. How such a tiny being could wail so loudly was beyond Darcy’s comprehension, but it pleased the servants and relieved the new father from having to make a longer speech.

By the time Darcy had introduced young Ben to his various relations in the library and was able to retreat upstairs again, his son had ceased crying and appeared to be completely occupied with trying to fit his fist into his mouth. True to his word, Will returned the babe to his mother’s side before Elizabeth had woken, and, having tucked the sleepy baby on the bed between them, he lay down and watched them both until he fell asleep himself.

The subsequent weeks passed quietly for the little family; Pemberley seemed to focus inward for a time, celebrating the new life and what it meant for the continuity of the Darcys and all those who depended on that family for their livelihoods.

Not a few times, Elizabeth laughed at herself for once having proclaimed that it would be no trouble at all to schedule Georgiana’s wedding for barely three months after her confinement. Though it was to be an intimate family affair and plans for a great deal of the program had been set in place earlier in the spring, now that Ben was born she found that she had very little interest in anything beyond the nursery.

Fortunately, Lady Matlock and her widowed daughter, Lady Lucy, were gratified to be of use. The pair settled into guest suites at Pemberley with a sense of purpose that their mourning for Lord Ashbourne had recently denied them. Elizabeth worried that Georgiana might be hurt by her sister’s lack of attention, but it quickly became apparent that Miss Darcy was almost as giddy as her brother over little Master Bennet.

Once she had been churched, Elizabeth made an effort to spend more time working on housekeeping matters in her study or visiting with her guests in the public rooms. However, she found she liked having Ben near her rather than leaving him in the nursery, and it soon became commonplace for a gurgling baby in a basket to be observed beside the Mistress of Pemberley’s desk, and on more than a few occasions the same was observed in the master’s study.

One day, barely a week before Georgiana’s wedding, Elizabeth was so perplexed by her correspondence that she almost forgot to hand Ben and his basket off to the nursery maid before going in search of her husband.

“Good heavens,” she muttered, turning the letter over to reread a section as she walked down the hall. When a second inspection did not change its content, she shook her head and made her way to the master’s study. She had only just knocked on the door, however, when the sound of an approaching carriage caught her attention.

Thus, when Mr. Darcy called “Come,” she barely greeted him before turning to the window.

“Why, Jane has come!” she exclaimed.

“Were you expecting her?”

“Not at all… although,” she glanced down at the page in her hand, “I believe I can guess the reason for her visit.”

When Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows, she merely handed him the letter and then went to meet Mrs. Bingley.

“Lizzy!” Jane barely took the time to hug her sister. “Well? What do you think of this news from Mama?”

Mrs. Darcy laughed and took her sister’s arm. “I only just read her letter myself and was going to seek Mr. Darcy’s opinion.” After sending for tea, the ladies settled in the sitting room. “It is possible, I suppose.”

“Oh Lizzy, do be serious. Our mother must be nearly fifty!”

“Improbable, to be sure, but for myself, I have learnt not to dismiss anything as impossible. After all, I did once say that Mr. Darcy was the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry, and look at us now!”

“Lizzy, do be serious,” repeated Jane. She withdrew some papers from her reticule and held them out to her sister. “Here, read the letter Mama sent me. May I see yours? Does it say anything more?”

“Hmmm…” Elizabeth began skimming the letter. “It appears very similar, although mine did not include the news that Miss Maria Lucas is being courted.” Hearing Jane make an impatient noise, she glanced up. “Oh, Fitzwilliam has my letter, Jane. He will be here in just a moment.”

Before Mrs. Bingley could respond, Mr. Darcy himself appeared at the doorway. “Ladies,” he bowed to Jane. “An express arrived not long after your carriage with messages from your father for both of you.” He handed over the letters. “Apparently the rider stopped at Holloway first, but your butler was sensible enough to send him along here.”

Darcy settled on the sofa beside his wife in order to read over her shoulder while the sisters shared a look and cracked the seals.

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Dear Lizzy,

By now you and Jane have no doubt read your mother’s letters. I fear that she sent them off without my knowledge, else I would have tried to prepare you. First, allow me to reassure you, my dear. Your mother is not expecting another child, regardless of what she may have have written. It is quite impossible.

I fear that your mother has been very affected by the recent births of so many male children among our family and close acquaintances. Sir William in particular is prodigiously proud of his new grandson, and so Mrs. Bennet’s visits to Lucas Lodge no longer have quite the heartening effect as in the past. To make up for this, she spends a great deal of time with her Sister Phillips, the outcome of which is, I fear, the very great volume of correspondence that you have mentioned receiving. It appears that, bereft of married daughters to speak to but brimming with advice, your mother has become greatly enamored of the post. Perhaps you and your sisters should compile her letters in a volume and offer it to a publisher; there appears to be quite a market of silly young ladies desiring manuals of useless advice, and the royalties might repay your husband’s outlay for the postage.

However, to return to the main point, your mother was feeling unwell recently and her symptoms were severe enough that I summoned the apothecary. Mr. Jones examined her and concluded that Mrs. Bennet has some sort of cancerous growth in her abdomen. According to him, there is no cure, I am afraid.

Your mother refuses to believe the diagnosis, and (as you have no doubt read by now) believes herself to be with child. As if that were not enough, she appears to have convinced herself that she carries my son. She became exceedingly angry when I attempted to argue otherwise, to the point that I was genuinely concerned for her health and had Hill administer laudanum. I have circulated the actual state of affairs to our neighbors, but your mother continues to announce her pregnancy to all and sundry.

At this point, I feel it is kinder to allow her the fantasy. She is taking a great deal of pleasure in sewing new baby clothes and I simply cannot find it within myself to spoil her diversion. Lydia is home from school now, and she and Kitty take turns sitting with their mother.

Your father,

Thomas Bennet


“Good heavens,” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Will? Do you know if there is a doctor they might consult? Some sort of specialist?”

“I shall write to our physician immediately and ask for recommendations,” responded Darcy earnestly. Disregarding their public position for a moment, he wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and gently kissed her forehead. “Are you well, dearest?”

She smiled weakly and rested her head against his chest. “I will be. It is just so strange… I feel horribly guilty now for neglecting Mama’s letters. I gave no consideration to the possibility that any of them might hold something beyond the usual…”

Darcy rubbed her back. “You had no reason to, dearest. And she has written you a great deal over the last year.”

“But what if I had not read it in time?”

“But you did, and that is the material point. I will make arrangements for an express and then write to Dr. Tolmach for a recommendation. Shall the two of you include letters for your parents? The rider can easily stop at Longbourn on his way to town.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady herself and nodded gratefully to her husband. “Yes—thank you, Fitzwilliam.” Turning to her sister, she asked, “Jane, if you will compose a reply to Mama, I shall write to our father. I fear I have absolutely no idea what to say to her—Papa seems determined that she be allowed to maintain her delusion.”

“Yes…” Jane chewed her lip as she took up her mother’s letter to Elizabeth and began to read that.

Thinking quickly, Lizzy waited for her sister to finish reading. “Jane?” It took a few moments but Mrs. Bingley eventually looked up. “I cannot leave Pemberley just now—Georgiana’s wedding is a week away and we have guests beginning to arrive tomorrow.”

“Oh, I had forgotten about that, but Lizzy…”

Elizabeth interrupted; “Jane, I believe that you and Bingley should go to Longbourn, as soon as you can. Tomorrow, if possible, or the day after. We will follow after the wedding.”

“Well, of course we shall go… but really Lizzy, I'm sure that there must be some mistake. Mr. Darcy’s doctor shall take one look at Mama and tell us that this all has been some sort of misunderstanding.”

Elizabeth gave her sister a long look. Throughout her girlhood, she had relied on Jane’s tendency to see the best in everyone and everything around her. However, there were times when Lizzy genuinely worried about her sister’s resistance to admitting even the possibility of unpleasantness. And given her father’s similar tendency to ignore anything that might cause disarray in his life, she wondered how long her mother’s illness had gone unacknowledged.

When she mentioned this to Mr. Darcy later that evening, he took his time considering the matter before answering. “The Gardiners visited Longbourn at Easter, did they not? They would have noticed if something was wrong with your mother… and perhaps just as importantly, they would not have kept it from you.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth took a deep breath and released it, feeling a little better. “Yes, you are absolutely right.” Suddenly she sat up in bed. “The Gardiners… I must write to my aunt and uncle about this! And the Fitzwilliams…” she slumped back on her pillow and curled toward her husband. “Although, given my mother’s antipathy toward Charlotte and Master Collin, I cannot recommend that they visit… it would only upset her,” Lizzy sighed.

“If your mother is truly ill, they will appreciate being informed by a native of Longbourn, rather than having to rely solely on rumors and gossip.”

“Oh stars, yes… they must be getting all sorts of bizarre reports from Lucas Lodge. Well, Papa always said that we have a responsibility to provide entertainment for our neighbors.”

As a joke, it fell rather flat, but Fitzwilliam wrapped his arms around her and she was reassured that at least one person in the world understood her conflicted feelings toward her parents.

In the end, what should have been chaos proved remarkably easy to manage. The Bingleys left for Longbourn three days after Mr. Bennet’s express, although Jane continued protesting that it would all turn out to be a misunderstanding even as she stepped up into the carriage. Elizabeth was relieved to see that Charles, at least, was taking the situation seriously and had carefully taken down the information for the doctor who would be coming up from London to examine Mrs. Bennet.

Elizabeth’s letter to the Gardiners proved prescient, for indeed, they had heard nothing about the matter, as Edward later admitted to the Darcys. “There are times when I simply cannot fathom what your father is thinking, Lizzy. That he would put off informing me, Fanny’s own brother, of her illness, until something ‘more certain’ was known, I cannot comprehend. I cannot even tell if he believed Mr. Jones’ diagnosis or not—he did not summon a doctor for a second opinion, after all—so what sort of evidence was he waiting for to be more certain?”

With so much on her mind, Elizabeth was exceptionally glad that she had accepted Lady Matlock’s offer to help organize Georgiana’s wedding. Even if the guests were relatively few in number, it was not every day that one hosted a duke, not to mention a marquess, an earl, a bevy of barons and knights, and all their correspondingly titled spouses. Although the party was limited to family, both the Fitzwilliams and the Somersets were prolific, and as all of Georgiana’s cousins and Jonah’s siblings chose to attend, even Pemberley began to feel remarkably full.

The evening before Miss Georgiana Darcy was to wed Lord Jonah Somerset, they all gathered in Pemberley’s most formal dining room. As the guests moved to take their chairs, Will looked around the table. First, he observed his wife who was guiding the Duke of Grafton and Lord Jonah to the seats beside her, her eyes sparkling and laughter bubbling up like silver bells. Not for the first time, he wondered what he had done to deserve her.

The Duke appeared to be enjoying himself tremendously and turned slightly to Lady Eleanor to include her in the conversation. Darcy was glad to see that his aunt and uncle appeared to be recovering from the death of their eldest son. The Countess still wore black, but it was now edged with white and she had seemed genuinely saddened to leave Lady Alameda and young Master Reggie behind in Essex when she and Matlock had returned to Derbyshire after Easter.

Lord Jonah caught his eye and for an instant, Darcy wondered if his future brother-in-law was winking at him. However, a soft giggle from the young lady at Fitzwilliam’s right corrected his understanding. For a moment, he simply watched his sister as she glowed with happiness and chatted with the Duchess while stealing looks at her fiancé. A series of memories flashed through his mind.

George Darcy showing him how to hold the impossibly tiny baby and telling him that she would be his to protect.

The happy little girl set on her first pony, full of that heady mix of exuberance and terror.

Her huge eyes when she was brought to him for the first time in her new mourning clothes after their father died… how the black bombazine had seemed to leach all the color from her face… much as the shock over Wickham’s betrayal had done.

And the resurgence of her happy giggles and ethereal music when a certain impertinent young lady from Hertfordshire had blown into their lives like a breath of fresh spring air.

Returning to the present, Darcy observed his sister and her betrothed share a longing glance, and it reminded him so much of those he had shared with Elizabeth during their engagement that his throat tightened and he was forced to struggle manfully against the tears that threatened to well up. Once his emotions had settled, however, Mr. Darcy stood tall and raised his glass, ready to make peace with his sister’s choice and toast to her future.

The wedding service was solemn and, although the bride never stopped crying from the moment she stepped through the door of Pemberley’s chapel on her brother’s arm, the morning sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows was more than enough to show how brilliantly happy she was. The groom might have blushed rosily when his bride’s hand was placed in his own, but his words were just as serious and heartfelt.

The wedding breakfast had been set out in the smaller ballroom on tables decorated with flowers from both garden and hothouse. Having completed her duty, Mrs. Annesley joined the celebration as an honored guest and found herself noticed by the Duke of Grafton himself, as well as that gentleman’s eldest son, both glad to meet a relative of the late Lady Alice.

The Countess of Matlock did not stay long at the celebration, limited as she was by the obligations of mourning. However, she stood for a time in a doorway with Mrs. Reynolds, observing the happy company and thinking of the past. “This family has suffered so much grief over the years… I pray that this year marks a new era.”

“’Tis a new generation, and it looks to be a lucky one, to my eye,” replied the phlegmatic housekeeper. “It’s been good to see the Master happy, and from the looks of it, Miss Georgiana shall be just the same.”

“Lady Somerset, you mean.”

“As you say, ma’am,” replied Mrs. Reynolds. “But she’ll always be a Miss Darcy of Pemberley.”