As many of you guessed, Darcy didn’t turn into a playboy overnight!!! If you haven’t been following the story, you can read the Prologue, Chapter 1, and Chapter 2 here. 

Meanwhile, for those of you have been with me from the beginning, sit back and enjoy. 

Chapter 3

It did not take long for Darcy to realise that living a carefree life did not suit him. It was not that he did not relish his freedom; it was just that he did not enjoy many of the trivial pursuits that so many gentlemen of his class enjoyed. While he might appreciate the challenge of a game of cards occasionally, he had no interest in practicing the kind of feverish gambling that obsessed some of his acquaintances. He disliked the tension of the card rooms: the sweaty palms, the anxiety, the downright desperation of those who were losing, along with the heady excitement of those who were winning. He felt the urge to win could be far more usefully employed.

Nor did he enjoy the discreet establishments that so many gentlemen frequented. He did not understand the appeal of women who were on sale, many of whom had been coerced into such a living by circumstances or bad luck. There was misery behind the pretty clothes and the brittle smiles, and he could not bring himself to find pleasure under such circumstances. Oh, he was not immune to the lure of the female sex, but he preferred for a woman to give herself freely. He had enjoyed one or two encounters with widows or women of the demi-monde. Still, in the end, they had not given him much satisfaction.

Add to that, the incessant noise, the thick air, and the inconvenience of stabling his horses— along with having to send for them every time he wanted to ride— made him decide that the joys of Town were vastly overrated. To his surprise, he found himself longing for Pemberley.

Time, then, to return.

***

He expected to see his daughter Kathy waiting to welcome him when he arrived, but there was no sign of her. He had written ahead to let the housekeeper know of his arrival, and the servants were lined up to receive him, so he could not account for it. Strongly disappointed, he greeted the servants, then immediately requested that Kathy to be brought down to him in the library.

When he heard the expected knock on the door, he rose at once, eager to embrace his little girl, but it was only Nurse Tuttle who stepped into the room.

“Where is Kathy?” he said, looking behind the familiar figure, wondering if Kathy was playing hide and seek.

Tuttle twisted the bottom of her white apron. “I’m sorry, Master Darcy, but she refused to come down. She’s busy drawing, she said.”

Darcy scowled. “How is that possible? Does she not want to see her papa?”

“Well, Master Darcy, it’s hard to explain. Miss Kathy has been a difficult child for some time. She always was very willful, not like you and Miss Georgiana. The two of you were the most good-natured children in the world. But Miss Kathy – she doesn’t like to follow rules, and she always wants her own way. Everything has to be done just so, and if it’s not, she throws a tantrum.”

“She sounds like my aunt Catherine,” said Darcy, with a little laugh. He did not add – and her mother. Anne was like that, too, in her own way.

Nurse Tuttle shook her head and pursed her lips. “It’s no laughing matter, Master Darcy. I have enough experience with children to know that, if she isn’t taught to keep that temper in check, there will be trouble ahead. She’s become quite unmanageable, if you will pardon me saying so.”

“It can’t be as bad as all that, Tuttle,” said Darcy. “I am sure you are more than equal to the task.”

“That may be, Master Darcy, but it won’t do to dismiss it. She’s a lovely little girl when she has her way, but the moment anyone opposes her, then everything falls apart.”

“That still doesn’t explain why she did not come down with you.”

“I can’t explain it, sir.”

Darcy surveyed the earnest, well-loved face of Nurse Tuttle. For the first time he noticed the wrinkles and the slight tremor in her hand. How long had she been with the family? She had been his nanny as well as Georgiana’s. It had to be thirty-five years at least.

“You’ve been with us for a long time, Tuttle. How old were you when you came here?”

“I came here when I was in my late twenties, I was with his lordship the Earl of Matlock before that, but Mrs. Darcy stole me away.” She smiled fondly. “Now that was another person who was headstrong. She would never stop until she got what she wanted.” Tuttle folded her hands in front of her and looked severe. “See, now Master Darcy. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m too old to be able to handle Kathy, I daresay. But that is neither here nor there. Kathy is used to me, and she won’t take easily to anyone else, what with her losing her mama, poor lamb.”

“I wasn’t thinking of replacing you, Tuttle. I was just thinking that you could do with a little bit of help. A young nursemaid, perhaps.”

Tuttle shook her head. “What Miss Kathy needs is something to keep her busy. She needs to start with her lessons. Perhaps that would give her something to look forward to.”

Darcy recalled his own dislike of lessons, and privately disagreed with Tuttle. Lessons were not something one looked forward to. They were something one endured. But Tuttle had made a good point. What did Kathy do all day? With no brothers or sisters, and no relations her age close by, who did she play with? At least Darcy had had Wickham to keep him company. Obviously, Kathy needed something to do beyond indulging herself.

“Very well, Tuttle. I will give the matter some consideration.”

Tuttle beamed. “I knew you would, Master Darcy. It is a relief to have you back here to take control of things again.”

He nodded, feeling a tug of affection for her. “It is good to be back. Well then, we had better go upstairs. I suppose if my daughter won’t come to me, then I shall have to go to her.”

When he entered the schoolroom, he dismissed Tuttle and approached his daughter. Kathy was drawing something on her slate chalkboard, and she looked up briefly when he came in, but did not greet him, quickly returning to her drawing.

“You have grown so much while I was away,” he said, with a smile, noting the changes in her appearance. “Who is this pretty young lady here? Is it still my little girl Kathy, or is it some stranger?”

She ignored him, and continued to draw.

“So what are you drawing?”

“It’s a picture of heaven.”

There were clouds and sun rays and stick figures with wings, which Darcy supposed were angels.

“This is very good.” He examined the drawing until he thought he knew what she was doing. “Is that where Mama went, Kathy?”

She nodded, concentrating fully on the task at hand, biting the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

He was at a loss to continue the conversation further. What did one say to a child who had lost her mother? He had had the same problem with Georgiana, he remembered, when their father had died.

“Do you wish to talk about Mama, Kathy?”

Her eyes flicked to him sideways, but she continued to add more stick figures to the board.

She was not going to talk about her mother, Darcy decided. He felt he ought to do something about it, but didn’t quite know what. He had never mastered the talent that some people have, of being able to say the right thing on every occasion.

To his great relief, she was the one to speak after all.

“Why did Mama go to heaven, Papa? Did she not wish to stay with us here?” She did not stop what she was doing, but Darcy sensed that she was listening intently for his next words.

“It is not a choice she made, Kathy. She was unwell, and God chose to take her from us.”

He wanted to pull his daughter into his arms, to comfort her for her loss, but he also recognised her stance. She was holding aloof and would only squirm and break away if he tried to put his arms around her.

“Why was she unwell?”

Darcy considered how to answer this. “She was born with a sickly constitution.”

Kathy did not look convinced. “I overheard one of the servants saying “good riddance” the day she died. What does that mean?”

A spark of anger ran through Darcy. How dare they say something like that about poor Anne? He would find out who this person was and dismiss them as soon as possible. If they could not be loyal to their mistress, then they did not deserve to be at Pemberley.

For now, however, Kathy was waiting for an answer.

“I’m sure they meant to say that it was better for her to be in Heaven than suffering here on earth.”

“Was she in pain?”

Darcy shook his head. “No, I do not believe so.”

“Then why was she suffering?”

“She was too weak to do anything.”

There was a stubborn look on Kathy’s face. She wanted proper answers, and he wanted to give them to her. He believed in honesty, but there was only so much a child could understand.

He tried to find a way to explain it. “Wouldn’t you suffer, if you were stuck in bed, unable to do anything but stare at the wall?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I like to lie in bed.”

“But when you lie in bed, you would be playing with your dolls. What if you were too weak to lift your doll?”

She thought about that. “Then I would throw it on the floor.”

It was too much to expect Kathy to put herself in her mother’s place. Perhaps it would be more useful to encourage her to talk about how sad she was, though heavens knew talking about feelings was not something he was any good at.

“Do you feel very sad that Mama has gone away?”

The little girl fixed her gaze on him, her head tilted to one side.

“No.”

Well, that was not going very well.

“Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

“But don’t you miss your Mama?”

Again, that tilting of the head.

“No.”

That surprised him. Anne had not been the best of mothers. She was far too listless to exert herself for anyone. However, she had loved her daughter, and she had made more of an effort with her than anyone else, certainly far more than with him, which, he supposed, was not saying much.

He wanted to get to the bottom of it. “Why not?”

She chewed on her thumb and sat watching him silently. Her fixed look disconcerted him. He was not good at this kind of thing, not at all, but he had to try.

“Why do you say that?” prompted Darcy, patiently.

“I can’t tell you. You’ll be angry.”

“I won’t be angry, Kathy. I promise.”

“If I tell you, will you stop asking me questions?” Her voice was defiant.

“Yes, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Well, then. I don’t miss Mama. Not at all. The truth is, I hated Mama. She smelled funny. She always wrapped herself in those ugly, stinky shawls, and she was always with that horrid Mrs. Jenkins, all the time, and they would whisper together and look at me and I hated it. That woman was always fussing around Mama. I hated going in to see her, and I hated being around them. Mama always asked me the same questions, every single time.” Her eyes were blazing. “Everyone said I should love her because she was my mama. But do you know what? I didn’t love her. Not at all.”

She put up her chin. “If you want the truth you shall have it, Papa. I hated Mama, and I’m very glad she’s dead.”

Before he could protest or say anything, she threw the chalkboard to the floor, jumped down from her chair and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Darcy stood looking at the closed door, feeling completely out of his depth. Perhaps he should not have persisted with his questioning. He knocked at the door and called her name, but when she didn’t answer, he made his way back down to the library.

He was shocked at the pent-up anger in Kathy. He had never imagined she might have hated Anne. Indeed, he realised he had never given it much thought. It was one of those things one took for granted. Kathy had put her finger on the root of the matter. Everyone expected a child to love her mother.

Why had he not noticed anything was amiss? He had been away for some time, of course, and when he last saw her, Kathy had been too young. She could not have expressed her anger then, not in words at any rate. If he had known, he might have been able to do something about it while Anne was still alive. He sighed. It was no use regretting the past. Darcy could not mend Kathy’s relationship with her mother, but it was clear that something needed to be done for her future.

He considered the possibilities. Ever since she was born, he had doted on her, knowing that very possibly Anne would never have another child, and that Kathy may well be his only offspring. She was the bright spot of their marriage, the only thing that made it worthwhile. As master of Pemberley, however, there was a limit on how much time he could spend with her. He was also obliged to travel to Town frequently on matters of business and for necessary social reasons, and – as much as he hated to admit it – because he wanted to avoid Anne, who refused to stir beyond the boundaries of Pemberley. The country air was much preferred for a baby whose health could not be taken for granted, and under the circumstances he had always felt it would be better for Kathy to stay with her mother.

Whenever he returned to Pemberley, he had taken little Kathy on picnics and walks, and had watched her as she learned to ride her little pony. He had spent far more with her than most other fathers he knew. He had thought it enough.

Which brought him to another matter. Kathy’s comment about the servants had disturbed him. How much of a role did the servants’ gossip play in Kathy’s dislike of her mother?  How many more things had she overheard? He could not blame the servants for resenting Anne’s constant and excessive demands. He had asked his wife several times – in as polite a way as possible – not to ring for someone every few minutes, and to refrain from ringing during the servants’ dinner time unless strictly necessary. All to no avail. She would ring for someone to shift her pillow, or to straighten her blanket, or to draw the curtain a little to keep the sun out or to let the sun in – all reasonable requests for someone who was truly incapacitated, but they were things she was perfectly capable of doing herself, and they certainly did not need to be done several times a day. They would have been more convincing, too, if she had not thrown off her covers almost daily to come down to dinner, dressed in fine clothes, to consume the food presented with an appetite worthy of a farmhand after a day of hard labour.

He sighed. That did not, however, give the servants the right to criticise Anne within the hearing of her daughter. Who knows what damage had been done?

Well, the past was the past, and he did not think trying to find the culprit or culprits amongst the servants would do anyone any good. It was time to look to the future. He thought of Nurse Tuttle. She had been a wonderful nanny to him and Georgiana, but it was obvious that Kathy was too much of a handful.

The fact that his daughter had no playmate compounded the problem. Kathy’s world was too narrow. Under regular circumstances, he would have dispatched her to a young lady’s academy, to be with other girls, but he did not want to part with her, not when she was so young. It might be selfish, but he wanted to keep his daughter with him in Pemberley. Perhaps Tuttle was right after all. Starting lessons might be the best solution. Kathy was quick-minded and inquisitive, and her curiosity needed an outlet.

It did not take Darcy long to reach the only logical conclusion. It was time to hire a governess for Kathy.

*~~*

I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Fortune and Felicity. Was it what you expected? What do you think of this aspect of Mr. Darcy?

As always, I’m really looking forward to reading your reactions.