A Lady’s Reputation Chapter One

A Lady’s Reputation will be available for purchase in July but I wanted to give everyone a few chapters first, to get a taste of the story! I will post the first three parts weekly and on June 26th will show you all the beautiful cover!  

 

Chapter One

Wednesday, 8 April 1812, Kent

Colonel Fitzwilliam sat with his mouth rather unattractively agape for what seemed like a full quarter hour before finally repeating, “In love?”

“You have heard of the affliction, I presume?” asked Darcy with a droll smile. He wished desperately that he had chosen to confide in his cousin in different circumstances—over a billiard table or on horseback, somewhere Fitzwilliam would not be so wholly focused on him—but there was nothing for it now.

“But who is she? I have detected no symptom of peculiar regard by you for anyone. Though now that I think of it, you did speak rather at length to that horse-faced lady from Leeds—or was it Leicester? I cannot recall. Is it her?”

“Heavens no!” Darcy laughed. “I shall tell you, but first, I must plead your assistance in concealing this from our family. For Lady Catherine to know before I tell her myself would be nothing short of disastrous. Likewise, I would not wish to have your father learn of it before I tell him.”

“My father will be delighted to see you settled. Unless you think the family might not approve of her?”

“The family surely will not approve of her. It is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

Fitzwilliam’s exclamations were becoming tiresome. “You seem rather taken with her yourself,” Darcy replied sharply. “I should not think you find it as astonishing as all of this.”

“Indeed not. I find Miss Bennet delightful. Charming, witty, and beautiful…kind too. I do not think I could have any greater hope for your happiness than to see you married to such a lady as Miss Bennet.”

Darcy rose from the large wing chair and went to the window of his aunt’s library. The window might have boasted a view of the parsonage save for the trees that grew up thick and tall between them. Nevertheless, it was a comfort to know that she was somewhere in that direction.

“But?” he asked.

“Her lack of fortune is an issue, as well as her connexions. Did I hear something about relations in trade?”

Darcy grimaced, knowing he would be giving voice to all that plagued him since first coming to understand his attraction to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. “Her relations on her maternal side are not gentry. One uncle is in trade, and the other is an attorney in a small village called Meryton, in Hertfordshire.

“Her mother is a vulgar creature: outspoken, illiberal and bold. She would not be received by anyone of quality. Miss Bennet’s father is indolent and lackadaisical. He consistently fails to censure his family for their many mortifying antics. The young ladies are not educated properly nor have they been guided into demure womanhood, but they are left unchecked and even encouraged in impudence. Miss Elizabeth and her eldest sister have somehow managed to find elegant restraint, but the younger three are wholly untamed.”

Fitzwilliam exhaled loudly.

“Do not think me insensible of the evils of my choice. However, it cannot signify because no matter her connexions or her upbringing, I love her, and I know we shall be happy together. To live my life without her is unthinkable.”

“So you intend to declare yourself soon?”

“The parsonage party will dine with us tomorrow evening. I thought I might do it then.”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes flew wide, and once again, he stared agape. “In our aunt’s home? Have you gone stark-raving mad?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“A better idea than having Lady Catherine witness your becoming betrothed in her home to the detriment of her daughter? Yes, I believe I can think of many better ideas than that.” Fitzwilliam rose from his seat and paced slowly, rubbing his face in the way he always did when deep in thought.

Darcy watched him for far too long before demanding, “Say something, Fitzwilliam.”

“I am concerned. You say this affection of yours is implacable, yet I do not think you fully comprehend the many consequences of your decision. Need I remind you that Lady Catherine expects you will offer for Anne?”

“How could I forget that?” Darcy snorted. “I assure you, I have considered this from every aspect. I have considered every objection.”

“Considering something, no matter how exhaustive, does not necessarily prepare you for the reality of it. What if you propose to Miss Bennet and then, in the face of her family’s lunatic behaviour, find yourself doubting your actions? What if ostracism from our family—I do not think that would happen, but it cannot be ruled out—makes her charms grow dim? There are a number of obstacles, and you would have them before you all at once. How do you know whether your ardour will outlast it?”

Darcy was silent as he settled back into his chair.

“You must anticipate the consequences of your actions and how they will affect both you and Miss Bennet. Will the society of your bride suffice if no one in London will receive you? How will you bear being the subject of tattle, unceasing gossip? What about when the vulgarity and impropriety of her family is permeating the halls of Pemberley?”

“We would not be ostracised,” Darcy protested. “Naturally, there will be some who remove me from their list of preferred guests, but I shall seek the assistance of your mother to ensure Elizabeth is not shunned. You saw yourself that she is very agreeable. Few can meet her and remain unmoved; she has that way about her. Even Lady Catherine approves of her, albeit grudgingly.”

“True, though I think we can agree that Lady Catherine’s approval will end as soon as she knows of the engagement.” Fitzwilliam paused to sip his drink.

“As for the Bennets,” Darcy continued, “we shall likely see them very little. Mr Bennet does not like to travel and can scarcely be prevailed upon to come to London. I would imagine Derbyshire to be quite out of the question.”

Darcy drummed his fingers on the table top beside his chair, deep in thought. He had spent many hours considering these obstacles over the past months, and they could not be disregarded. Overcoming them, however, was entirely another matter. “Perhaps I should go to our families first.”

“What?”

He turned to meet his cousin’s gaze. “It might be to our advantage to address these objections before I propose.”

Fitzwilliam nodded thoughtfully.

“I shall go to my uncle first. He may rant as much as he likes with no one the wiser but myself. Once he realises I shall not waver, your mother will make him see reason. This will also remove any notion of impropriety or some similar nonsense—lend validity to the whole thing, if you will.” His voice grew animated as his idea gained momentum. “Then…then I shall go to Hertfordshire and speak to Elizabeth’s father.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave his cousin a dubious look. “But that is the way of our grandfathers, Darcy. A modern young woman expects to be the first to know of her engagement.”

“Miss Bennet will approve, I am certain.” Darcy dismissed his cousin’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “It will show a respect for her family and, in particular, of her father, of whom she is very fond. Moreover, it will be my test—if I can bear this mortification, surely, I can bear anything.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Do you truly think it might go so badly?”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “I can hear Mrs Bennet’s screeching now, exclaiming over my wealth and Elizabeth’s pin money.”

“If it is any consolation,” Fitzwilliam teased, “the mothers of the ton would do the same, albeit quietly and out of your earshot.”

Darcy scarcely heard him, still turning the idea over and over in his head and growing more elated with each repetition. “Yes, yes…this is how it must be done. Let us depart tomorrow. I have business in London I must attend with no further delay.”

“I have not as yet made my tour of the park.”

“Hang the park.” Darcy’s spirits could not be repressed; his dreams were soon coming to fruition, and nothing could deter him. “I have walked it often enough with my love these weeks past. All seemed in order or at least close enough.”

Fitzwilliam laughed. “Far be it from me to interfere with a man on a mission. Shall we make for the parsonage now to take our leave?”

Darcy nodded. “We shall need an escape in any case once our aunt learns we are to shorten our visit.”

Friday, 10 April 1812, London

“This has all the feel of a tribunal,” Lord Matlock remarked with great joviality. “Such sombre countenances on you both! From Darcy, I expect it, but on you, Fitzwilliam, it is a novelty.”

Neither of the younger gentlemen responded to his jest. Fitzwilliam went immediately to his father’s cabinet, pouring them each a glass of port before joining them in sitting.

Darcy was surprisingly unnerved to face his uncle and had to remind himself several times that he was a grown man who did not require his uncle’s approval to marry. Nevertheless, he hoped for the blessing of all his family, as well as their support, and he could not deny the thrill of setting into motion his dearest wishes.

Lord Matlock peered at him. “You first extend your stay in Kent, then return home two days early. Is there something in particular you need to discuss with me?”

“Indeed.” Darcy took a drink to fortify his courage. He began by telling his uncle about meeting Miss Bennet in Hertfordshire: the way she first fascinated him and then how that fascination bloomed into a deep and ardent love. His uncle listened with no expression as Darcy told him how he had returned to London prepared never to see her again, but then she had been in Kent, even more beautiful than he remembered, and his love had, impossible as it would seem, deepened further still.

He reviewed the time they had spent together in Kent—the walks, her impertinence to Lady Catherine, and her friendship with his cousin. At this time, he looked to Fitzwilliam, hoping for some mention of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s many attributes.

Fitzwilliam did not disappoint. “She is a charming and delightful girl. Witty, well-read, and kind, yet by no means a bluestocking; the sort of lady who would be a great boon to any drawing room or dinner. You and Mother would be utterly enthralled by her.”

Lord Matlock regarded his son and nephew with great scepticism. “I have never heard of any Bennets.”

“Her father has a small estate in Hertfordshire worth two thousand a year.” Darcy spoke with an assurance he did not feel. “It is entailed upon a cousin, Mr Collins, who coincidentally is Lady Catherine’s parson. Miss Bennet’s fortune is one thousand pounds. They have no connexions of note, or none of whom I am aware.”

Lord Matlock was silent for several long moments, regarding Darcy with an amused sort of pity in his eyes. “Darcy, what is this? You cannot be serious.”

“I am absolutely serious.” Darcy swallowed. “I intend to marry her.”

“You will be a laughingstock! What are you thinking?” With that, Lord Matlock was in for a fight. “You have a duty and an obligation to your estate, to your ancestry, and to your descendants to do what is right, and what is right is for you to make a marriage with one of your kind!”

“One of my kind? Miss Elizabeth is a gentleman’s daughter, and I am a gentleman!”

“She is no-one! You would not be received nor recognised, and if you think your aunt and I shall help, you are sorely mistaken. You cannot cast off all that is expected of you and think we shall clean up after you!”

The fight raged on for above an hour. Lord Matlock blustered, shouted, pleaded, begged, and swore that he could have no part with his nephew nor countenance such an alliance. At last, he stormed from the room, telling Darcy that if he proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he need never darken his door again. Darcy stormed off just as angrily, though more quietly, muttering to Lord Matlock’s back that he had no intention of darkening his door ever again.

Sitting in the library that shared a wall with Lord Matlock’s study, Viscount Saye, the eldest son and heir of the earldom of Matlock, heard it all. He had poured himself a glass of smuggled brandy to enjoy the diversion. Darcy, of all people, carried away by some sort of lust for a country girl! Moreover, the novelty of not being the person making his father angry was most enjoyable. Darcy was usually so tiresomely virtuous; it was amusing to see him behaving from sensibility rather than sense.

When his father stormed from the study, slamming the door behind him with enough force to cause the walls to shake, Saye decided it was time to stop merely enjoying the show. He went to the parlour where his mother liked to sit and found her writing letters in a sunny corner.

“My darling boy.” She greeted him with a gentle smile. “Was that your father I heard yelling?”

“He is angry with Darcy.” Saye tossed himself onto a sofa.

“With Darcy? Whatever for?”

“Darcy intends to propose to some unsuitable country girl with a fortune of one thousand pounds.”

Lady Matlock laughed, her pen still moving over the page in front of her. “You must have misheard him. Darcy would never do any such thing.”

“I assure you, Mama, that is precisely what happened. Darcy did not relent, they had a violent row, and my father has cast him off.”

Lady Matlock’s pen stilled. “Indeed?”

“My father said Darcy was never welcome here again, and Darcy stormed off.”

With a sigh, Lady Matlock closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Nonsense. Fitzwilliams simply do not feud. Where is your father now?”

Saye shrugged. “The courtyard, perhaps?”

“Go find him; tell him we need to talk.”

With a sigh, Saye rose, grumbling, “It is always to me to fix these things.”

An hour later, Saye strolled towards Darcy’s house with his father. Lord Matlock had been significantly mollified after conversation with his eldest son and wife. An overture of sorts was formed under the assumption that Darcy, having spoken of his intentions, was unrelentingly firm in his plans.

As they approached Darcy’s house, Saye made to turn down a different street. His father observed him with surprise. “You do not come to see Darcy?”

“I trust you can manage the rest without me, and Miss Goddard is expecting me.”

Lord Matlock smiled; his son, at least, had made a proper match. “Yes, perhaps warn her of this business. There is bound to be some talk, and she is almost family. She has a right to know. Just be sure she understands the need for secrecy.”

Saye, already with his back to his father, shrugged. “Of course,” he replied with nonchalance, continuing towards the house of his intended.

Lord Matlock presented himself at Darcy’s home and was quickly shown to the library where Darcy sat, glaring at the book on his lap. He regarded his uncle’s entry with unmistakable wariness. Lord Matlock smiled in a conciliatory fashion.

“You must have anticipated my concerns, Darcy. I have the best interests of you and your family name at heart.”

Darcy sighed and closed the book. “Am I not deserving of the felicity of true affection?”

“Of course you are,” Lord Matlock replied soothingly. “I have spoken to your aunt, and we know just how to manage things.”

Should Miss Bennet prove acceptable in manners and appearance, Lord Matlock’s plan was to feign a long-standing relationship with Mr Bennet—from their school days, perhaps. No one ever remembered who attended school where or when or with whom. With a claim to friendship with the house of Matlock, as well as the fact that the Bennets had been landed for well over a century (no mention need be made of the profitability of the land or the entailment unless it was absolutely unavoidable), it just might pass. Lady Matlock would lend her assistance and influence to young Mrs Darcy by providing introductions and entry into society.

“Now, you must take care of all the legal matters immediately. Get it done, get a licence, marry quickly. That way, once the Season is at its height, you and your new wife will be in the midst of it in full sight of anyone with any wish to see you. It will not do to appear ashamed or uncertain as that will just feed the gossips.”

“Indeed? I had thought rather the opposite. Perhaps an extended courtship—three, four months or so—and then spend the autumn at Pemberley.”

“No, no, no, that is precisely what you must not do.” Lord Matlock was definite. “Trust me in this: marry as soon as things can be arranged, and we shall do our part as well.”

“Very well then,” Darcy replied. “I certainly have no objection to making her my wife sooner rather than later.”

*

Several blocks away, Saye sat with his betrothed, Miss Lillian Goddard. Miss Goddard had many fine qualities that recommended her to her future husband: china blue eyes, fair hair, an ample bosom to match her ample fortune, and a father who possessed both a good position in the government and a lovely estate in Staffordshire. Of these assets, it was the bosom that garnered his admiring glances this day, even as he spoke of Darcy’s news.

“My parents will advise him to marry soon.”

Miss Goddard’s eyes were wide with amazement. “What about her clothes? The breakfast?”

Saye waved off such notions. “For such a girl to have secured the likes of Darcy, she will wish it done as soon as possible. Her clothes can come later, and as for the breakfast, well, even if it is naught but old biscuits and salted fish, she will still enjoy the status afforded a Mrs Darcy.”

He reached out to her, trailing a finger down her face and across her neck. “Send your maid away,” he whispered.

With a faint blush, Miss Goddard did just that, succumbing happily to the lips of her betrothed as soon as the tiresome maid had closed the door quietly behind her. As Saye kissed and caressed her, he recalled that he had neglected to mention the fact that Darcy’s engagement was as yet not entirely done and Miss Goddard should not speak of it. Pulling back for a moment, he said, “Pray keep the news to yourself, things are not entirely settled.”

“Of course,” she murmured, as his hands made their way farther up her ribs and across her bosom, and his lips found hers once again.

Miss Lillian Goddard, known for her ease and friendliness if not for her intelligence or understanding, was delighted by the news that Darcy was engaged; it was a rather toothsome bit of gossip after all. Within moments of bidding her intended adieu, she had forgotten that what she had heard was not to be told, and in any case, with such exciting news, keeping it to herself was out of the question.

Her mother was the first to be told. “Mr Darcy to marry?” Mrs Goddard exclaimed. “I do not think I have heard of any Bennets.”

Miss Goddard’s replied, “Her father’s estate is Long—something. I cannot recall, but there is an estate.”

“I should hope so!” Her mother shook her head in amazement. “Mr Darcy could have had nearly anyone! I suppose this Miss Bennet must be very wealthy?”

“Saye told me her fortune is only…is merely—” She could not help herself, and uncharitable as it was, she giggled.

“Was what? Say it, child.”

“A…a…a thou…a thousand pounds!” Miss Goddard gave way to gales of laughter.

Mrs Goddard’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “No! You surely misunderstood.”

Calming herself, Miss Goddard replied, “It was too shocking to be misunderstood! Can you imagine Mr Darcy marrying a lady of such circumstances?”

“Mr Darcy must be in love.” Mrs Goddard shook her head. “Why else would he throw himself away in this manner?”

The tale had all the best elements—secrecy, a whiff of scandal, and at its core, true love—and as such, it was irresistible. Mrs Goddard prided herself on not being a gossip, and therefore, intended to tell only her maid.

However, her sister, Mrs Donnelly, visited soon afterwards, and of course she never kept anything from her, and after that, her cousin Lady Belmore called. Each of those ladies had daughters who had been raised with Lillian and had their own visit while their mothers gossiped. In both circles, the incredible tale was told over and over again: Fitzwilliam Darcy, revealed as a man of such intense passion and love that he had thrown prudence and circumspection aside, would marry as his heart dictated. It could scarcely be believed.

Saturday, 11 April 1812, Hertfordshire

“Oh, what now?” Mrs Bennet moaned, staring at the letter in her hand. The express had arrived early from London, and Mrs Bennet was nearly eaten up with curiosity over its contents. Mr Bennet, quite vexingly, was gone for nearly the entire day on some matter of the estate. With a sigh, she looked at Hill. “I suppose we shall not know what is in it until dinner.” Mrs Hill nodded.

Mrs Bennet then spied Lady Lucas hurrying down the lane, arriving quite out of breath in her drawing room minutes later. “I saw the express rider leaving. I pray there is not bad news? I nearly ran here in case you were in need of my comfort or consolation.”

“I very well could be! Indeed, I hardly know,” Mrs Bennet exclaimed with a peevish little scowl at the letter. “Mr Bennet, that exasperating man, is gone all day. I am left to stare at this thing with no notion what it might contain!”

Both ladies regarded the tempting missive with solemnity. It was not a common occurrence for express riders to arrive at Longbourn. The notion that important news was contained therein, news to which they were so near yet so far, was insupportable.

“It is from London and likely very important,” Lady Lucas noted.

Mrs Bennet nodded emphatically, wondering silently whether it was something to do with Jane who had been in London since January. “What if it is some urgent business for Mr Bennet? Tomorrow is Sunday. If he knows nothing of this until late today, he will be unable to address the problem until Monday, nearly three days past when it was sent.”

“In general, an express is sent for matters of great urgency.”

“That is very true! You know how I suffer from my nerves! I cannot worry over this all the day long! It would be exceedingly bad for my health!”

“That is very true, my dear. Lord knows how you suffer.”

The two ladies met each other’s gaze for a moment. At last, Mrs Bennet said, “Perhaps it is best if I read it for him just to be sure there is not some illness or a death in the family, heaven forbid.”

Lady Lucas nodded eagerly as Mrs Bennet opened the letter, shielding it carefully while reading it. Lady Lucas managed to keep herself from peering over her friend’s shoulder, but just barely, as Mrs Bennet, contrary to all expectation, went stock-still and silent, her only concession to the astonishing contents was to clutch the letter to her bosom.

“Mrs Bennet?” Lady Lucas urged. “What is it? You have gone white as a sheet.”

Her words moved Mrs Bennet from her stupor and she turned to Lady Lucas, emitting a loud, unmistakably triumphant shriek. “We are saved! Oh Lizzy! She will be the greatest, the richest…oh, a house in town and all that is charming and good…what pin money…oh, bless me, I shall go distracted.”

Lady Lucas grabbed her arm. “Is it Mr Bingley?”

“Even better! ’Tis Mr Darcy! Oh, I know we have always thought him rather proud and disagreeable—even a bit dishonourable for his actions against dear Mr Wickham—but he says here that he met Elizabeth in Kent, and they have furthered their acquaintance, and thus does he wish for a private audience with Mr Bennet. He arrives Monday. Monday!”

“So he has offered for Elizabeth, is that his meaning? It is worded oddly.”

“Of course he has! What else could it mean? He is coming for Mr Bennet’s approval, which of course will be given, and Lizzy will be Mrs Darcy! Oh! Oh!” She was overcome by her effusions and for a moment could only make wordless, joyful utterances while her friend read the letter and came to the same, obviously correct, conclusions.

“I wonder whether Mr Bingley will return as well.”

“Naturally! And then he will see Jane and all of this business between them can be settled at last, just as it was meant to be from the beginning. Oh my Lord, bless me! Two daughters married, can anything be so happy?”

The two ladies visited awhile longer, chatting happily about wedding plans and arrangements. (Although it vexed Mrs Bennet greatly that Lady Lucas should assume she needed her advice on wedding arrangements. Surely the wedding of Lizzy to so great a personage as Mr Darcy could bear no resemblance to that of Charlotte and Mr Collins.) At last, Lady Lucas was obliged to go on her way, eager to tell Sir William what she had heard at Longbourn.