Merriment: a scene from Brother of the Bride, by Jack Caldwell

Greetings everyone. Jack Caldwell here.

This month’s theme is merriment. Now, few people know merriment like us Cajuns. Unfortunately, Mardi Gras was on March 1, so it’s a little late to talk about that. And it is Lent, which we kinda take seriously over here. We’ll just have to make due with a scene from my upcoming Pride and Prejudice sequel, Brother of the Bride.

To establish the scene, it’s set in 1816 of my Jane Austen’s Fighting Men Universe, slotting between the events in The Three Colonels (1815) and Rosings Park (1817). The Darcys, married for four years, have traveled with their young son to Longbourn for the wedding of the widowed Lydia Wickham to Colonel Denny. All the family has gathered, and you know how much Darcy likes that!

So, here we go.

January 1816, Hertfordshire

The next day, Darcy stood with his back to a wall, witnessing Longbourn in full chaos. It was a sight he had not seen in…well, ever.

To begin with, the Gardiners had arrived with their four children. Being the eldest cousins, they had decided to teach Bennet Darcy, Susan Bingley, and two of the Wickham girls the fine art of screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs. Their mothers were in the far corner busy greeting each other while being fussed over by Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips. The nannies were upstairs with Hill, preparing the nursery. Furthermore, Bingley and Mr. Phillips amused themselves by encouraging the uproar.

Two years ago, Darcy would have fled the joyful commotion with a pounding headache. With the birth of Bennet, however, he acquired more than a son. He received the gift of fatherhood and developed a tolerance for such noise, instantly knowing the difference in a child’s scream between delight, pain, or terror. While it was never to his preference, he could now endure such a hubbub, as long as it was from the children.

Mrs. Bennet’s exclamations were another matter altogether. Her squawks, as always, grated on his last nerve. But Darcy knew to persevere, for who would interrupt the heartwarming sight of the Bennet sisters’ reunion, perhaps for the final time.

There was his Elizabeth in the midst of it, Jane Bingley on one side, and Mary Tucker on the other. Kitty Southerland embraced her former favorite, Lydia Wickham, as though no time had passed since 1812. Tears and smiles adorned all their pretty faces. Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Phillips were part of the circle, and Mrs. Bennet’s cries of joy were heard over the clamor.

“Quite a noise, eh?” observed Mr. Bennet at Darcy’s elbow. “I dare say one can hear it all over Hertfordshire.”

Darcy did not reply. The years had not softened Mr. Bennet’s sardonic manner. Instead, he glanced at the other gentlemen. Mr. Tucker looked as though he would stop the uproar if he had any idea how to do it. Mr. Gardiner, as a father of four, was far more sanguine. The Rev. Mr. Southerland was shocked and a little terrified. Colonel Denny simply ignored it.

Darcy found that interesting. Had Denny become immune to such a din due to his experience on the battlefield? He would have to ask Richard at his next opportunity.

Finally, the nannies made their appearance, rounding up the children and escorting them above stairs. The gentlemen reclaimed their ladies and took seats about the parlor. It was comfortable, even though the windows faced due west. Once the expected inquiries as to the health of the various families were made and answered over tea, the real business of the day commenced.

“Colonel Denny, it is my understanding your ship sails for India in a little over a fortnight.” Darcy began, as he was the acknowledged head of the family, being the most prominent of the sons and Mr. Bennet having no taste for the position.

“That is correct,” the colonel replied. “I must present myself in Portsmouth a few days before she sails.”

“So, a little over a se’nnight after the wedding.”

Denny nodded and took Lydia’s hand. “Our wedding trip will be abbreviated. We must call upon my family in Wiltshire.”

“Oh, Lydia,” cried her mother, “must you go?”

“Oh yes, Mama,” Lydia insisted. “I cannot be separated from my dear Archie!” She gave her intended an overly intimate look.

Bingley sat up. “Archie?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the colonel. “Archibald Denny. Mrs. Wickham likes to call me Archie.” His slight grin earned a look from his intended best suited for the bedroom.

Darcy immediately dismissed any consideration of his sister’s glances. “Let us speak of the children. Is it your wish that they remain in England?”

Lydia sniffed and Denny handed her a handkerchief. “Mrs. Wickham and I discussed this. While Calcutta boasts a considerable British presence, we feel it would be safer for the girls to remain with the family,” said Denny. “The voyage is dangerous, particularly for small children.”

“Oh, I shall dearly miss my three little girls,” cried Lydia. “I cannot think of leaving them without weeping! But as Archie says, they will be safe in England, and they will have opportunities to make excellent matches thanks to my relations.”

“Of course they shall!” returned her mother. “Look what matches your sisters made thanks to your brother Darcy! When the time comes, he will certainly put them in the path of rich men!”

Darcy clearly saw that even after all these years, Elizabeth was mortified by her mother’s thoughtless comments. If her face were any redder, she would burst into flame.

Tucker asked, “What of your family, Colonel?”

It was Denny’s turn to be embarrassed. “I have few relations, Mr. Tucker. My good parents died years ago and those I have left are elderly and poor.”

“Lydia’s girls go to strangers?” Mrs. Bennet gestured wildly. “Certainly not! They must stay here in the bosom of their family!”

Most of the gentlemen refrained from rolling their eyes, while Mary and Jane assured the colonel that Mrs. Bennet was motivated by her deep affection for the girls and meant no insult to his family. Colonel Denny claimed no offense.

Darcy felt all eyes on him. “If, as you say, Colonel, your family is unable to take in any of the children, it then falls to us assembled to determine where they will reside.”

Lydia seemed confused. “I thought they would stay here at Longbourn!”

Mrs. Bennet began to wring her hands. “Oh my dear Lydia, nothing would give me greater pleasure! Such beauties and such well-behaved little—”

Just then, the door crashed open and a blond-haired blur dashed towards the couch. Mrs. Nivens entered right behind.

“Chloe! Chloe Wickham! Stop this instant!!”

The child did not stop, but instead, dodged the nursemaid’s outstretched hands, crying, “No! No bath! I want to play!” She then leapt into Darcy’s arms and attempted to bury herself in his coat.

Darcy resolutely gripped the arms of his chair. “Mrs. Nivens, I believe your charge is here.” Chloe Wickham, Lydia’s eldest, squirmed deeper into her hiding place.

“Forgive me, sir! The child is quite the handful.” She pulled away the screaming, flailing, three-year-old. “Now, Miss Chloe, you must be a good girl and take your bath.”

An ear-splitting cry of “NO BATH!” filled the parlor. Mrs. Nivens shook her head and marched out of the room, Chloe loudly complaining the entire time. A footman closed the door.

Unruffled, Darcy looked about as though this were an everyday occurrence. “I believe we were deliberating what to do with Mrs. Wickham’s girls.”

I’m busily working on finishing Brother of the Bride, so keep on the lookout for it. The cover above is only a draft, so don’t get too excited. Meanwhile, pick up a copy of The Three Colonels if you want to know what happened to George Wickham and how Denny became a colonel. Thanks for reading!

Until next time, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…